Donna's Human Nature
by Basmathgirl
Summary: Yes, yet another Series 3 re-write where the Doctor has to hide his scent; posing as a human to escape the Family of Blood, but this time it's with Donna and she isn't happy about it. Well, not at first… Rating changed to M for safety's sake.
1. Chapter 1

**Prompt:** Donna in "Human Nature" instead of Martha

**Warning:** this assumes you've seen and know these episodes of Series 3.

**Disclaimer:** none of this is mine; but I have read a few versions now.

**A/N**: written for the prompt given by **develish1** and plot bunny provided by **dm12**.

**A/N2:** isn't it funny how you can contemplate a whole story just to lead up to a particular point that you've envisaged? Or that might only me, come to think of it.

* * *

**Donna's Human Nature**

**Part One**

.

"I'll have to do it, Donna," the Doctor had told her when they had found out the Family of Blood were hunting him down using a stolen vortex manipulator, sniffing him out like bloodhounds to use his Time Lord knowledge. "I'll have to become human and hide from them."

Then he had placed that torture chamber mechanism, better known as the chameleon arch, on his head; and had begun screaming. If she had known it was going to cause that reaction she would never have allowed him to do that to himself.

* * *

As it was, the TARDIS had provided him with a new persona and a new job. Who knew the TARDIS was also a temping agency? Except his job had nothing to do with offices, unlike her usual temporary appointments. No, he had to go and get himself a supply teacher's job in a private school, of all places. 'Talk about feel out of place!' Donna thought. All she had to do was open her mouth and it would be obvious that she didn't belong there.

It was alright for him, he could turn up on the doorstep wearing something akin to his usual clothes. Okay, the TARDIS had chosen 1913 of all times to land them in, but that meant he still had a fairly normal suit and tie ensemble. Although that detachable collar looked decidedly dodgy now that she looked at it. She had no intention of scrubbing at it like a demented ferret, trying to get any stains out with a well-applied bar of Fairy soap on a washboard. Instead she had sneaked out a small bottle of bleach to do that little job with. When needs must, as they say.

Anyway, her own getup could only be described as… well… frumpy, to be honest. It did absolutely nothing for her. Obviously the TARDIS had been thinking 'Suffragette' with her costume, because it had no redeeming feminine features. That had made her extremely grouchy at first. Talk about rub it in that she'd never get a permanent man! And then she had seen exactly what type of establishment they were going to be spending the next three months in, and she became extremely grateful.

Farringham School: the place was a school for boys. The place was a school for boys. Boys, I tell you! Hundreds of hormonal, adolescent boys! It didn't bear thinking about if she so much as showed an ankle. They'd be like jackals in for the kill. So in the end, Donna had been grateful for the dowdy brown dress that buttoned up to her chin, missed defining her breasts completely, made her hips look like a sack of potatoes, and swooped down to cover her knees and end up at her ankles. Her feet were encased in boring black button-up boots. They couldn't have been less sexy if they'd tried. Add in the hairstyle that looked like a cottage loaf, a squashed on brown felt hat that had definitely left style at the door on the way in, no makeup beyond pinching your cheeks, and the effect was complete. Except the TARDIS had also given her some glasses to hide behind.

In the same way that the Doctor's glasses were brainy specs, her glasses were nerdy specs. They practically shrieked unattractiveness. Taking them on and off again in front of her bedroom mirror, Donna finally understood how Superman had hidden behind his glasses as Clark Kent. She was unrecognisable in the things, and reminded her of some sad old woman you used to see in Buster Keaton films. Not such a great image to live with, but it would keep her totally safe until they could return home. At this rate she'd be tempted to use her hat pin to commit hari-kari with in order to fight the boredom.

* * *

They had stood on the school doorstep like yesterday's dinner when the door was opened by a middle-aged man who greeted them with the words, "Hello, I'm the school caretaker, Mr Hedges. If you'd care to follow me, Mr…?"

"Smith," the Doctor had said as he stepped forward to shake the man's hand. "Dr John Smith, the new history teacher, and this is Donna."

Mr Hedges then shook Donna's hand in greeting. "How do you do, Mrs Smith."

Oh gawd! It was happening again. "I'm not Mrs Smith, I'm Miss Noble," she had automatically replied.

To her consternation, the Doctor had then laughed apologetically. "Donna has joined the Suffrage Movement, and claims her own title; but I assure you she is my wife."

What?! Donna couldn't believe her ears. Surely that hadn't been part of the information the TARDIS had given her before they had turned up at the school. She would have stern words with him when they were alone!

Fortunately her thoughts had been distracted away by them being taken to the Headmaster's office, and she had heard from the horse's mouth, as it were, what he thought he was in this life.

Apparently he was a proper Ph.D. type of history bod who had been investigating historical artefacts until recently. He claimed Donna had been with his research assistants and had, despite her lack of academic knowledge (and she wanted to kiss him in thanks for not making her a university graduate), shown herself to be capable and willing. She was not only there as his wife, but as his archivist, typing up and cataloguing his notes.

Phew! Thank goodness for that! For a moment she thought she was going to end up being a put upon servant or something equally gross. But if she was only there to help him compile his next book or two and, from what she could gather by reading between the lines, was merely in a marriage of convenience, well, that wasn't too bad at all. The only difference from her normal temp job was that she wouldn't have to have a pink fit with a photocopier on a daily basis or worry what the code was for the printer.

So sitting there like a spare wheel, she had smiled brightly when he had condescendingly referred to her as his assistant. The label of 'assistant' suited her fine. And these load of old fogies knew she was marriageable material. What more could she ask for?

* * *

Donna felt quite smug as they were lead through several wood-panelled corridors and up a bare wooden staircase, with magnificent carvings, she quietly noted to herself as they tramped up it, to the masters' rooms above the school rooms. She felt smug until they met a group of sixth formers, and could feel their greedy, eager eyes, follow her ascent up the stairs, and she drew her skirts closer just in case they were trying to peep up to see her underwear. Once at the top of the stairs she wondered why she had bothered. Her undergarments weren't exactly that exciting after all. In fact it might be funny to give them a flash of bloomer, just to see if it was true that they'd keel over. But since they were standing with the Headmaster, it was probably advisable to behaviour with propriety. Wouldn't that make her mother laugh?! Her, being a model of decent behaviour as a schoolmaster's wife. How she didn't burst out laughing at the thought, she would never know.

"These will be your rooms," the Headmaster announced, and unlocked a heavily carved door. "After you, madam."

Donna stepped politely in and thanked him automatically. The room had a musty air, as though no one had lived there for some time. The Doctor and the Headmaster were exchanging pleasantries and saying something about all meals being taken in the refectory as she explored this new space. There was a bedroom with two single beds, thank goodness, a rudimentary bathroom for which she sent prayers heavenwards, because what wouldn't be worse than sharing toilet facilities with droves of young boys; and a tiny AGA type stove that was built into the fireplace, with a lidded hotplate that was only big enough to take a kettle. At least they'd be able to make tea, she thought, since a butler sink stood in the corner near the window that boasted the mod con of having a cold water tap. Actually, now that Donna thought about it, having a cold water tap rather than having to go out to a pump, or even a well, certainly was a modern convenience.

As she walked around their new temporary home she removed her leather gloves, took off her hat very carefully and finally shrugged off her coat. The boots would have to wait until the Headmaster had buggered off and left them on their own. She did mentally make a note to see if her biodamp ring was back in the TARDIS, as she feared wearing it would be deemed necessary by this punch of sexist pigs.

"Is it to your liking, Mrs Smith?" the Headmaster asked her.

Except Donna didn't turn her head, because she wasn't used to the term, and so she completely ignored the question.

"Miss Noble," the Doctor quietly corrected him. "My wife does not accept what she deems my ownership by taking my name. I'm still trying to get her to accept Smith-Noble."

Donna had turned at this snippet of information, and given the Headmaster a consoling beaming smile.

"Oh, I see," he remarked; in that way people do when they don't at all, and in fact totally disapprove.

'I bet he's grateful I'm nowhere near little girls,' Donna immediately thought; and then tried not to giggle when she imagined loads of St Trinian girls rampaging through his school. It'd serve him right if they did. "The rooms are to my liking," she told him as pleasantly as she could.

The two men continued their previous discussion, starting with which servants would be at their disposal, and were now determining exactly what duties the Doctor would carry out as part of his job, and the peculiarities of his timetable. All of the teaching stuff was gobbledegook to her, so she mentally planned where her workspace would be, and what she would allow herself to be in charge of.

A young man appeared breathlessly at the open door to the private rooms. "We have brought your luggage, sir," he announced, and three other boys appeared lugging a hat box and two trunks.

"Magnificent!" the Headmaster declared. "Well done, Tompkins Major. Good job, Simmons, Smyth-Flock and Livingston."

They all chorused their thanks and left the room.

Had they really brought that much stuff? Donna was appalled by how many cases they had. She knew she had packed every single item that she owned when she had boarded the TARDIS but these were simpler times. It was one on, one off, wasn't it, that you put in the wash. She was about to ask about washing when she spied the typewriter case, and almost squealed with delight.

"As you can see, Headmaster, my wife is keen to get back to work," the Doctor was saying with some amusement.

Yeah, that was exactly it. Not. I dunno, you get all excited about seeing an antique and you're made fun of. "Work is my life; as you know all too well, husband," she forced herself to say. 'Now pick the bones out of that one!' she thought to herself.

The Headmaster had merely smiled politely back. "Don't forget that there will be a faculty soirée after dinner tonight to welcome back new and old teaching staff. Until then, may I bid you both a good day." He bowed slightly, and swept out of the room; leaving them all alone.

"He seems nice," Donna said, pleased with herself for not sounding as sarcastic as she had wanted to be.

She was completely surprised when the Doctor crossed the room to take hold of her hands. "Thank you, Donna, for doing this for me. I'd have never been able to teach here if you had not come as my wife; and I know how trying this will be for your nerves."

"That's okay," she immediately responded. "I knew we'd go to some odd places when I joined up with you, but I'm fine with this. So don't worry about me, and you're lucky enough to escape my cooking again, I've noticed. "

He blushed. He actually blushed at that! "I am sure your culinary expertise is exemplary."

"It's X rated for something," she joked; and was pleased when he laughed. Yes, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all if they could still laugh together. "This shindig tonight, do I have to dress up fancy for it?"

"Oh erm…" He cast his eyes down her outfit completely nonjudgmentally. "I'm sure you can wear whatever you feel comfortable in."

"Do you have to wear your cap and gown?" she wondered.

"I assume not," he answered, clearly puzzled. "But I expect it would be advisable to wear it when we eat in the refectory tonight."

She wanted to clap her hands in glee. The thought of him dressed like a posing penguin was already amusing her. "I can't wait to see you appropriately dressed," she lamely excused herself.

But it gained her a beaming smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

.

Blimey those travelling trunks were heavy! Lumping about the one with her name on it was hard work. No wonder they always hid bodies in such trunks in all those old fashioned murder mystery films. But opening it was like getting a Christmas present from the TARDIS; Donna had absolutely no idea what she would be getting.

Neatly folded within the wooden confines was a dark red dress, a navy blue one, a grey pinafore and several items of underwear that were best not discussed in terms of their structural maintaining abilities. So far so good, she thought. Obviously the red dress was fancy, the blue was Sunday best, and what she was wearing was her day to day outfit to be worn in rotation with the grey. It all seemed quite logical; and she quickly had them hanging in her side of the solitary wardrobe.

The other things were placed in the drawers assigned as hers in the large and cumbersome chest of drawers. Well, when I say assigned, Donna had the benefit of doing the assigning so she got first pick. The Doctor would make do with what he was given. All she hoped was that he didn't rifle through her things too much when he inevitably forgot which drawers were his, because we all know blokes are incapable of remembering such things.

With a huge sigh of relief, along with many more thanks to the TARDIS, she found her biodamp ring encased in a velvet jewellery roll at the very bottom of the trunk, and some other useful objects. Her last task was to place the pieces of jewellery, hair accessories and other small items in the given dressing table that sat by the window and reflected light into the room. It was quite a nice piece of furniture, with different coloured inlaid veneers on the three small drawers and a large triple mirror. In front of it sat a matching padded stool with an embroidered cushion.

It was then that she spied the Doctor's unopened trunk sitting there by the bedroom door like a wallflower. Was he expecting her to do it all? She supposed it might be classed as wifely duties in that given time period. There was only one way to find out. "Oi! Doctor, did you want me to unpack all your clothes too?" she called out to him.

He appeared in the doorway looking slightly flustered, she thought.

"No, that won't be necessary, unless you erm... you thought…"

She stood waiting for the end of the sentence whenever, and whatever, it was likely to be.

Instead, he took a step nearer, and continued, "You don't have to call me Dr Smith anymore; in the same way I don't have to call you Miss Noble. Well… hopefully not, not when we are alone. Try calling me John, please, Donna."

Ooh, now this was a turn up for the books. Who'd have thought the Doctor could be so shy? "Okay, John," she cautiously said, testing out the name. It felt completely wrong; but she knew that she would have to totally avoid calling him 'Spaceman', 'Time boy' or any other nickname she would have normally used. The name 'John' felt strangely heavy in her mouth.

She then surprised him by swivelling and looking at herself in the mirror to her side, and then stuck her tongue out to view.

"What are you doing?" he asked, obviously bemused.

Without changing position, she replied, "I'm just seeing how your name looks on my tongue; as I don't want it to get stuck in my throat."

He roared with laughter. "You have a most peculiar way of expressing yourself," he commented.

She mock curtseyed. "Likewise, I'm sure," she answered in her best voice. "Now about your knickers…?" she tried asking again as she eyed his trunk of clothing.

The wheeze of shock from him was totally unexpected! But it did amuse her.

"Donna, I assure you that I do not wear knickerbockers of any sort," he haughtily pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get them in a twist," she mocked him. "I was only wondering if you were expecting me to deal with all this…" She swiped her hand towards said item of luggage in demonstration. "…or were you actually going to put your own clothing away yourself."

"Oh, I erm I see," he blustered. "I thought you were questioning my erm manliness for a moment."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why would I do that? It's not as though the clothing you normally wear leaves anything ambiguous in that respect."

"What are you insinuating?!" he gasped out.

Any moment now she expected him to challenge her to a 'handbags at dawn' duel or a bun fight at the OK Corral.

"I mean that you love to wear tight clothing," she clarified, "although you obviously aren't doing that right now."

Oh dear! He really did look as though he wanted a heart attack to strike him down at any moment. "Tight clothing?!" he echoed. "What sort of a man do you think I am?"

'An alien one' threatened to trip off her tongue, but she amazed herself by holding it in. It would not do to upset him too much, seeing as they would be possibly sharing the same living space for the next three months.

Three months! Could she even survive in this place for that long? It was best that she didn't think about it for the time being. One day at a time, and all that. There were other worries to get passed first; and one of them was looking at her as though she had just suggested she was pregnant with his child.

This needed damage control, and it needed it now! So she stepped forward to place a friendly tender hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry, John, for upsetting you. I know you are a kind and honourable man, otherwise you would never have considered bringing me here with you when you could have chosen someone else. There really is no one who is a finer man."

His pained eyes bore into her for some seconds before softening. "You think I'm a fine man?" he queried.

She nodded in agreement. "Very fine. In fact I cannot think of anyone I would rather be married to right this minute." She didn't mention that it could all change within the next sixty seconds; or that her normal choice was someone else entirely.

There was some visible preening as her words sunk into his mind. "Ah, well, that's lovely." He beamed at her in glee. "And you are a very fine woman too."

Trust him to bring on the flattery! "Now don't get too carried away with all this," she playfully warned him. "I have a job to do here, making sure you stay safe and achieve your personal goal."

His gaze shifted a little, and he went all coy again. "About that, Donna. The book takes priority, of course it does; but I want us to be able to enjoy the time we will spend in this school."

"And we will," she quickly assured him; adding in a squeeze on his arm in emphasis. "I'm here to entertain you too, and some other people if I can get them to lighten up and crack a smile."

There was obviously something else he was going to say to that, but a loud knock on their main door interrupted their conversation and Donna rushed to see who it was. A fresh-faced young woman stood there, dressed in a maid's uniform of some sort and holding two cups.

"Sorry to disturb you, madam, but I've brought you both up some tea," she stated.

"You angel! Come on in!" Donna cheerily greeted her, and held the door open wide. "I could murder a cup right now. What about you, Doctor?"

He eagerly accepted the cup he was offered. "What a wonderful sight to behold," he enthused. "I'm Dr Smith, and this is my wife, Mrs Smith-Noble."

The maid politely bobbed a curtsey. "How do you do, sir; madam."

"Don't listen to him; I'm just Donna. What do we call you?" Donna pleasantly asked.

"I'm called Jenny, madam," was the answer.

"Did you not bring yourself a cup of tea too?" Donna enquired.

"Oh no, madam!" Jenny replied in very shocked tones. "I take my tea down in the kitchen."

"That doesn't seem very fair," Donna remarked to the Doctor.

He merely shrugged back at her. "It is the way of things."

"Don't mean they are right," she complained.

He glared at her, obviously not pleased with her answer. "Thank you, Jenny. That will be all for now," he said tersely to dismiss her.

Jenny bobbed another curtsey and quickly left them with their tea as they parked themselves. Donna sat herself down on the Chesterfield sofa in the room but the Doctor hesitated before choosing the matching armchair.

Oh, she knew that look from old. "Come on then, out with it," Donna challenged him, "what have I done wrong this time?"

"Donna," he said with a sigh, and reached across from where he sat to take her hand. "Dealing with servants means that they are there to… well… serve you, not be your friend. We all have our place in the scheme of things."

She could not help gawping at him incredulously. Was this really the Doctor sitting holding her hand? He would never allow someone to be treated as an inferior, yet here he was condoning such actions. This scenario would need careful thinking on her part; and a great deal of adjustment.

"Then what am I, Doctor? Am I your servant or slave, with you as my superior? What exactly is my given title?" she queried.

"We've been through this before," he remarked tightly. "You are my assistant. Officially you are my wife, and will carry out certain tasks for me, but you are not my servant, my possession or anything else. Why are you questioning this arrangement now?"

"Why?!" she considered. "Because you are acting differently and I'd really like to know what tasks you consider are necessary for me carry out."

He patted her hand. He actually patted it with a patronising touch, much to her annoyance. He could stop doing that as soon as he liked! "I was thinking of you supporting my decisions, helping me with my notes as usual, and generally standing by my side when necessary."

"Oh," she gasped. That didn't sound so bad after all. Yes, this arranged marriage could work. She placed her free hand over his to show her agreement. "I can do that, no problem; but I want to stress that I am your assistant and I will not wait on you hand, foot and finger. You'll have to help out too. Is that understood?"

He merely chuckled knowingly. "Of course I understand. We have discussed this many times, and I know your concerns intimately."

Intimately? Now that was a bizarre choice of word for him to use in the circumstances. She frowned. Was he thinking of more intimate things between them? Surely not; this was the Doctor, after all. He was practically asexual; although this version of him could be gay. It would explain his need to be married to her for propriety's sake. And anyway, who would fancy her in her current get up? They'd have to be desperate to even look at her twice even in normal dress.

His tender, concerned voice suddenly cut through her angsty thoughts. "Are you feeling unwell, Donna? Is there anything I can get you?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm probably just a little tired after our journey here. Can I ask one favour while I think to ask it?"

"What sort of a favour?" he asked warily in return.

"Tonight at this get-together will you promise not to leave me all on my own? These people will be ultra-posh, and cultured. I'm not likely to fit in straight away, if at all," she pleaded.

"I promise," he instantly vowed. "In fact I was going to ask you the very same thing!"

They both giggled at the idea, pleased that they both had a firm ally in this strange world.

"We've rather lived in our own little social bubble these last few years, away from the rest of academia," he added thoughtfully.

"We have rather," she readily agreed. "It makes all this even more awkward."

"You are and always will be my best friend," he sobered to admit.

"Isn't that sweet of you to say? And you are mine," she confirmed, "despite all the male posing you'll be doing here."

He laughed then, gladdening her heart. "I don't know about you but I could eat a horse."

"Nah!" she scorned. Saying "Perhaps something smaller like a pig!" earned her another much wanted laugh. "Now about these clothes of yours…?" she started to ask, but he quickly stammered his reply.

"Don't worry, my love… I mean, Donna. I'll deal with that while you freshen up."

Aw, she could get to love John Smith at this rate; if you ignored all the servant stuff. He may not be the Doctor in anything except looks but he was certainly a sweetie when he tried. With that happy thought, she entered the bathroom to wash in cold water. Warmer water would have to wait until she could find a way to heat some up.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I had intended to reach the soirée by now, but my muse shoved in this bit into my head and Donna's foot into her mouth.

* * *

**Part Three**

.

There were so many buttons to undo! Blimey, the dress would have made Hannibal Lecter's gaolers proud with the way it imprisoned her body. Well, she thought that until she considered her undergarments. A lightly boned corset and cotton vest took the place of a bra, since they wouldn't be invented for another ten years or so, and she had erred on the side of caution and opted for closed frilly bloomers. She had considered going without the corset when she had got dressed in the TARDIS but, in all honesty, when you have sizable assets, you don't want them flying about willy-nilly; especially when there were young boys likely to be about to take into careful concern. It didn't bear thinking about how they'd deal with boobs on the loose! The devastation would be far worse than a glimpse of her knickers.

Thank goodness the TARDIS had provided a handy wash bag with an all-important roll-on deodorant; a woman can never be too careful with these matters. Hopefully the Doctor would remember how to use one too. It was at this point that Donna realised that she hadn't picked up the blue dress she had intended to change into.

Very carefully she opened the bathroom door and peeked out. Bugger! True to his word, the Doctor had started pulling out his clothing from his TARDIS trunk and placing them in the wardrobe and folded up items in various drawers. There was no way she could just prance out in her underwear and grab the dress, was there?

"Pst! Doctor!" she stage whispered. "John!" she tried again when he ignored her.

"Donna?" He swung his head around to see where she was calling from; and saw her almost cowering by the wainscot behind the bottom panel of the bathroom door. "What's the matter?"

"I erm… I need you to help because I can't come out," she hoarsely explained.

"Why not?" he wondered.

"Don't be such a drip!" she complained as her embarrassment grew. "Because I am standing here in next to nothing. Why d'you think? I'm asking you to pass me something."

Nothing? Oh dear, that meant she was almost… He gulped as his imagination tried to stroll and then gallop through all sorts of fantasies. "What sort of something?" he asked; suddenly frightened it would be an item he would blush to handle, if he actually managed it pick it up.

Seeing his fright, some sympathy managed to nudge aside her discomfort, but not much. "My blue dress hanging in the wardrobe."

"You want me to erm…" He pointed towards the wardrobe as if he wasn't sure which item of furniture she was talking about.

"Yes, that one," she confirmed, hoping he'd bloody hurry up before she risked losing all decorum and stalked into the bedroom to grab the dress herself.

Slowly, far too slowly for her frazzled nerves, the Doctor plucked the dress from its padded hanger in the wardrobe. To her consternation he examined it thoroughly first. "That's a nice dress," he commented. "I bet it looks even better once you are wearing it."

"Move a bit faster and you might find out by the end of the century," she griped. "Thanks," she added when he eventually handed it over and stood there like a lemon in front of her. Something about his eager anticipation made her giggle. "You'll see it once I've got it all done up."

"I can help with that," he volunteered.

"I'm sure you could," she agreed, "but for now I'll err on the side of caution if you don't mind and attempt the feat of dressing myself all on my own. I wouldn't want to damage your eyesight with my lack of… Well, let's just say that it isn't a pretty sight."

"Oh I'm sure you are delightful without your clothes on," he raced to compliment her. "Or… or… or with them on. Both are good; very good. " He then stood comfort rubbing his neck as all the implications of his words hit him; and he wrenched his gaze away in his need to escape the embarrassing situation. "Well, I should be getting back to erm, to my own clothing as I have much to do."

As he stood still flailing, the minx smiled saucily at him, disconcerting him even further!

"Go and deal with your underwear and make sure you lay it nice and flat, otherwise you'll have wrinkles," she smirked; and he hastened away before his cheeks caught fire.

It gave her a good laugh as she fiddled about with the buttons on the placket of her blue dress; poor bloke. Did he even know how entertaining he was? Anyway, she was soon adjusting the decorative tie-come-scarf at her neck and smoothing down the long skirt of the dress. The white collar set off the blue wonderfully well. Yes, she liked the overall effect it created of being 'modern' and efficient.

When she peeped out the door again, the Doctor had his back to her as he brought out several items from his trunk and arranged his personal things in a drawer, so Donna sprinted passed him and then sought through a different box in the kitchen area to see if there were any tea things. She easily found a kettle, teapot, a set of crockery, matching cutlery, a tea tray with a pretty tray cloth; and even a box of tea, much to her surprise. She was just about to moan that the only thing missing was milk, when she unearthed a sugar bow full of sugar cubes and a milk jug that went with the teapot perfectly. And judging by the ability of the milk jug not to actually empty when she poured milk into the teacups, it was as trans-dimensionally temporally fitted as the TARDIS, and the Doctor's trousers. Not that she would ever mention to him that she had noted that aspect of his... *cough*...pockets. If it meant that they got free milk for life, who was she to argue with it?

"Doctor? John? Tea's ready," she called out to him once she had everything set out on the tea tray.

"Ah! Thank you, I have almost finished here. I will be with you presently," he called back, and then stood cautiously in the doorway. "I found my cap and gown," he announced.

Bully for him. Was he expecting an award for that, she unkindly thought for a few seconds before her compassion came to the fore? "Well, let's see you then," she encouraged him, and held out a cup of tea in invitation. "If I leap on you and try to snog you to death you'll know the look is an overwhelming success," she then teased him as he took the proffered cup.

Obviously he didn't know how to take such a teasing statement because he was rather stunned for some seconds, during which his mouth open and closed a few times like a gasping goldfish as his teacup rattled on its saucer. "Why would you...?" he began to ask in confusion.

"Of course I wouldn't really," she hastily reassured him, and took a healthy sip of tea from her own cup; eyeing him mischievously over the rim. "Are you sure you've known me for long? Only you don't seem to know my sense of humour very well."

He seemed to bristle at that and stopped drinking. "I know you far more than you will ever realise," he haughtily pointed out, placing his finished cup down on the tea tray.

Ooh, should she test him out? Would it be cruel to do so? It was almost too tempting to miss the opportunity. As it was, she waited until he reappeared in his posing penguin outfit, aka wearing his gown and carrying his cap in his hand.

He looked pretty good in it, she noted; but she could have some more fun with this. "Okay then, seeing as you claim you know me quite well, how many marks out of ten would I give you for posing in your cape like that?" she asked and finished by placing her cup decisively down.

He glanced down at himself and then remarked, "Perhaps only a two because this is not a cape but is a gown."

She clapped her hands with delight. "One mark to my erm... my history boy! I thought I might have caught you out with that one."

"No, you did not," he smugly answered back with a pleased smile. "Care to try me with another?"

"Rightio!" She narrowed her eyes as she contemplated him, and pursed her lips in thought.

He squirmed uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"How surprised should I be, on a scale of one to ten, that you haven't noticed my change of dress?" she wondered.

"Oh Donna!" he immediately cried out. "I do apologise. I should have mentioned it the moment I saw you but I was distracted…"

She waved his apology off. "There's no need to say anything. I was merely teasing you," she lied. "You're a bloke so of course you wouldn't notice anything unless my dress was falling off my back, exposing acres of flesh."

"I think I would notice long before the erm… the whole possible naked thing…," he remarked, using a finger waggling gesture towards her body before bringing his hand up to adjust his collar. "But I need to point out that shade blue is most becoming on you."

Now didn't that just invite a biting retort? The lying toad! Still, he didn't have to say it. "Nice compliment, Time.. this time. Let's try again." Good grief! She'd almost called him 'Time boy' then, and that wouldn't do at all. Quick, a diversion tactic was needed. What could she ask him next? Erm…"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think I like you?" she challenged him.

"Like?!" he squeaked, and flushed a deep pink to the very tips of his ears.

"Yes, like," she confirmed as she stood up out of her seat, deliberately edged closer to him and adjusted the fall of his gown over his jacket. Nope, she wasn't seeking revenge at all; not much, anyway.

With a self-conscious gulp, he tried to answer and failed to get a sound out on the first attempt. "Well, I was hoping for at least a six," he admitted after a few false starts.

"You do, huh?" she wondered, and then removed her hand from his lapel. Blimey, she looked like Nora Batty's maiden aunt and she could still flummox a bloke by stroking his jacket! Result! With a playful flick of her wrist, she dabbed him on the end of his nose, and joyfully told him, "You underestimate yourself, mate. I like you almost as much as a ten, easily nine and a half. How else would you be my best friend?"

"Best friend" he faintly echoed. "Yes, of course," he stammered. "You married me because you are my friend."

Is that what he really thought? Well, she wouldn't disillusion him about it too much. "That I did. I also married you as my friend because I assumed you are gay and needed this job, but that's neither here nor there," she commented nonchalantly.

Inevitably he frowned in confusion. "What's being gay got to do with the job?"

"Oh! Of course," she gasped in realisation, and threw her hands over her mouth momentarily to stop anything else tumbling out. Little did she know that it wouldn't work. "I clean forgot that the word isn't used in that context yet. Yes, I'm sure you are a very happy person, John; but I meant to say that I assumed you needed my consent because you are an uhm…" When he quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, she then mumbled apologetically, "A Nancy boy."

"A what?!" he spluttered out. "I'll have you know..."

But she hastily had stopped his possible tirade by placing an index finger on his lips; regretting that she had gone too far. Calmly, she told him, "Shhh! I'm sorry if I've upset your sensibilities but I want you to know that I don't care what you are; I love you for being you, just as you are. Always have and always will. Do you still want to deny it?" She then removed her finger, allowing him to reply.

Had she really said the word 'love'? Oops! But fortunately he was ignoring it and was focusing on the heard slur.

"Donna," he burst out, "I am not a lesser man."

She smiled impishly at him. It was ridiculous him even thinking he was lesser than a man. "I know you're not lesser at anything, but you are not a man in the conventional sense."

He was about to protest further when the dinner gong from downstairs sounded loud and clear. 'Saved by the bell,' one of them thought. One of them being Donna, obviously. She had right royally put her foot in it with him, and she was keen to make things right again.

With a brief glance in the mirror to sit his mortarboard properly on his head, they hurried out of their rooms as quickly as they could; the need for speed distracting them away from their discussion. But the Doctor vowed to return to the topic as soon as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** you might notice a couple of "The Dark Crystal" references that crept in here when I should have stuck with Harry Potter...

**A/N2**: we finally get to the soirée.  
**  
**

* * *

**Part Four**

.

There was a definite Hogwarts vibe as they entered the refectory for their evening meal; except there were no wizard hats, sadly, or wands. All the teachers, with their wives, were sat at a separate higher table, and all the boys were sat on long benches. Donna tried not to cling onto the Doctor's arm as he guided her into the room but this was all such an alien landscape for her with her comprehensive school education; and they were then shown were they would be sitting for the rest of the term.

It was their first glimpse of the other members of staff and the boys themselves. The overly obedient boys were eerily quiet as they politely sat down once all the adults were seated, and Donna wondered if the Midwich Cuckoos had landed. Her horror was complete when she looked closely at most of the members of staff; who would have guessed there were Skeksis this far out in the universe? If that was so, did that make her a Gelfling? She could only live in hope; although that sort of made the Doctor a Mystic master. Yes, that could work, she realised when she glimpsed at him; and suddenly wanted to giggle!

He immediately shot her a warning glance and leaned in to whisper, "Not here."

Of course that normally would have made things worse, and a giggle bubbled up; but the scowl on the Headmaster's face put paid to that. He had risen to formally welcome the assembled school and to invite them to eat once grace was said.

That was a weird experience for Donna, especially seeing the Doctor pray. She had assumed he had no time for such activities, but he was word perfect and seemed to be fully involved. One of the other wives sitting opposite had caught her watching him and not praying, and Donna had wondered how that would backfire on her later. No doubt she wouldn't have long to wait.

The meal was... Well, it was a school meal dished up in the way they used to be; so it was nutritious and barely passable as having any flavour at all. Donna found herself suddenly missing her mum's cooking terribly. Hardly anyone spoke on the teachers' table as they ate, and it had been a fairly quiet meal between her and the Doctor, probably the quietest meal they'd ever had; even when they'd had a full blown argument which hadn't happened very often. They had kept to safe subjects like "Is this beef?", "Pass the salt, please." and that old favourite "I wish we had tomato ketchup to go with this."

She really couldn't face the thick yellow stodge on her apple pie that was masquerading as custard, so she had nudged his knee with her own and asked him if he wanted it, seeing as he had polished off his bowlful like a starving man.

He had double checked that no one was looking before swapping bowls with her and tucking in with gusto. He really was a big kid at times, she thought; smiling fondly at him.

"What?" he wondered, smiling awkwardly back when he caught her gaze. "What have I done?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," she consoled him. "You're just being you."

He looked relieved.

Then all the boys had stood as the adults left the room in charge of the prefects, and Donna's next challenge awaited her attention. They were guided to the staffroom to where Jenny stood with another girl, both holding trays of glasses of port and sherry to be taken as they entered. 'Yippee,' Donna thought to herself as everyone slowly filed in like a geriatric field trip.

* * *

"Ah, Dr Hunt, let me introduce you to Dr Smith and Mrs Smith," the Headmaster boomed out in greeting.

They found themselves swapping introductions with the head of the history department; and then, to Donna's horror, the Doctor was led away to discuss faculty matters, thus leaving her all alone, standing like a forgotten pot plant by the curtains with her empty glass of sherry.

Fortunately someone saw this as their opportunity to strike up a conversation. Donna soon found the woman who had smiled at her earlier bearing down on her with beady determination. "You must be the new Mrs Smith," the woman stated. "I'm Mrs Hopkins."

"How do you do, Mrs Hopkins," Donna polite greeted her and held out a hand to shake. Had there been an old Mrs Smith then? As far as she knew she was the first Mrs Dr John Smith in this relationship.

Mrs Hopkins eagerly took the offered hand. "It's lovely to see such a young face for a change," she commented.

"Are you sure?" Donna warily wondered. It was pushing it a bit by being called 'young'. "The woman in the apron must be the same age as me."

"Oh her…" Mrs Hopkins turned to consider the woman currently chatting to the Headmaster. "That's Nurse Joan Redfern. She's a widow on the lookout for husband number two, so make sure you keep away from anywhere dark and at the top of a flight of stairs." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that soon made it obvious she was making a joke.

"I promise. What happened to her husband?" Donna wondered. "I hope she hasn't been on her own for too long."

"It must be thirteen years now," Mrs Hopkins considered, keeping her gaze on the nurse. "Oliver Redfern died during the battle of Spion Kop."

That was totally meaningless to Donna; she made a mental note to ask the Doctor when and where that was. It wasn't exactly one of the topics taught during her O level days, since the Great War in the coming years had been more prevalent. "What a shame," she remarked.

"It is. A woman should not be on her own for that length of time," Mrs Hopkins sympathised as her attention returned to Donna. "There is only so much a group of young boys can compensate for. Which brings me neatly to my question, Mrs Smith."

"Question?" Donna could not help raising an eyebrow as she awaited the possible cross-examination.

The smile on Mrs Hopkins' face almost appeased her fears. "Yes, my dear. How did you capture such an interesting husband in a place like this?"

How Donna didn't laugh out of sheer relief was anybody's guess. She really thought she had been rumbled as an interloper in this set up. "I honestly have no idea how I came to marry him; he just sort of turned up one day and whisked me away, changing my life forever. As for being here, John is writing a book and I am collating his notes."

"You work?" Mrs Hopkins queried with some shock.

"Oh yes," Donna readily agreed. "I can't sit around on my bum all day doing nothing. Well, when I say not sit around, I tend to be seated in front of a typewriter."

"That is very modern of you," Mrs Hopkins noted; although it certainly didn't sound as though she was impressed. "Does your husband approve of this?"

"It wouldn't generally matter if he did or didn't, but it was his idea. With the book, I mean. I've dealt with his writing before, you see, and have accompanied him to various places of interest," Donna carefully answered. Phew! Talking relative to the time period was a minefield of possible mistakes.

"Where are your children? Which school do they board at?" Mrs Hopkins suddenly asked.

What?! There were pretend children in this fake marriage now? Surely she wasn't expected to carry this lie off. "I'm afraid we've not been married long enough to have children yet," she replied as sweetly as she could in the circumstances.

"But by your age you should have had half a dozen," Mrs Hopkins jested and then noticed Donnas false blank expression. "Did something go wrong?"

"You could say that," Donna admitted with a sigh. "Even with my first husband there hadn't been time to start a family." Feed a family, of spiders, she thought, but Lance had never been keen to attempt anything with her beyond acquiring a new plasma screen television to watch the football on. Bugger, if it hadn't been for him she would still own a dog. She was brought out of her thoughts by Mrs Hopkins behaving rather flummoxed.

"You mean, you were married previously to Dr Smith?" 'Oh dear!' Mrs Hopkins thought. She had made a faux pas by making her earlier statement about Nurse Redfern.

There was an understanding smile on Donna's face. "Yes, to Lance Bennett; but he died soon after I first met the Doctor. Oh, he didn't bump him off or anything, it was a sheer coincidence." Yeah, a sheer coincidence that Lance, the lying scumbag, was conspiring with the Empress of the Racnoss and was very willing to use Donna as baby spider food.

There was a very sympathetic, "How did your former husband die?"

"Massive spider bite," Donna supplied. "He died from multiple spider bites; must have had an allergic reaction or something, because one second they were crawling towards him and the next..." She paused dramatically and the woman winced before shuddering at the mental image.

"How horrible for you," Mrs Hopkins remarked. "It must have been awful."

Donna nodded in agreement. "True, but I had the Doctor to make sure I was okay, and he took me back to London straight afterwards. He was a complete gentleman about it." The thought of him helping her climb up the ladder in that access tunnel before discovering they had drained the Thames made her smile in remembrance.

"You were very taken with him even then," Mrs Hopkins noted. "It certainly sounds as though he was with you, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Well, in hindsight I suppose you could say that," Donna said; but what she didn't realise was that a slight blush had appeared on her cheeks. "He has been my guide in life ever since, and here I am now as his assistant."

"And as his wife, don't forget that small matter," Mrs Hopkins chuckled to herself. "Soon you will hopefully be the mother of his children."

Yeah, dream on, love! The father of any children of hers in the future was likely to be a turkey baster like Nerys had used, knowing her luck. The Doctor would never have such ambitions with her, not judging by the way he had clung onto that purple piece of teenage clothing; so obviously her age was against her in another way too. Yes, his preferences were elsewhere in normal life. As for this human world... Who could tell? He'd chosen to have a marriage of convenience with her, so what did that tell you? Apart from his usual need to protect someone at any cost, of course, and in this case he was doing a bang up job of protecting her so she'd protect him in return with her last breath.

"That is for God to decide," Donna replied. That's what you were supposed to say, wasn't it, in this day and age? She was sure they said stuff like that in "Wives and Daughters" when it was on the telly.

Mrs Hopkins immediately patted Donna hand with a consoling touch. "I'm sure you will both gain the blessing you deserve."

"Mrs Hopkins, Mrs Smith," the Headmaster greeted them with a bow of the head as he suddenly appeared by their side. "May I introduce Nurse Redfern to you, Mrs Smith? And may I have a quick word with you about the school play, Mrs Hopkins?"

Donna watched him deliberately sweep Mrs Hopkins away and then smiled at the new woman standing in front of her. "Hello, I'm Donna," she said as cheerily as she could.

"How do you do. I'm really called Joan but I'm used to being referred to as Nurse Redfern," Joan confessed as they shook hands.

"No problem. We can easily work our way up to first names," Donna consoled her. "I wish I could be a practical help like you but I never had the brains to go into nursing. No, I went straight into an office and have used my typing skills."

Fortunately, Joan seemed impressed by that. "You can type?"

"It's not exactly rocket science," Donna modestly dismissed. "Although I could probably talk a little bit about rocket science now after having spent time with the Doctor." She then pointed him out to her new friend. "That's my husband. He's the brains of the outfit. They've got him teaching history but he could just as easily teach physics, chemistry, or anything else you could care to name."

"He sounds like a most remarkable man," Joan commented.

"Oh he is!" Donna brightly insisted. "I'm surprised he isn't running the Geographic Society or some such body."

Talk of the devil and he appears, they say; so she wasn't exactly surprised to have the Doctor turn up by her side, grinning broadly and accompanied by two men. "Donna, may I introduce you to Mr Christie and Mr Wilkinson. Gentlemen, my wife, Mrs Smith-Noble."

"How do you do," Donna greeted them. "Joan, this is my husband, Dr Smith. John, this is my new friend, Nurse Redfern."

Everyone pleasantly shook hands; and things went quite well after that, Donna thought. Joan kept by her side when the Doctor was taken off, and she started to fill Donna in on all the school gossip, with the important news; such as who should not be touched with a barge pole, who were the wilting violets, and who had led more interesting lives.

One name that cropped up as one to avoid was that of the art teacher, Mr Baillie. Oh dear! Donna had already noted him eyeing her as if she were dessert.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **there's a bit included here for **luv2readfanfic. **

**A/N2:** the song sung here is "Waiting At The Church", written by Fred W. Leigh and recorded by Florrie Forde about 1906.  
**A/N3:** I'm posting this in order to wish **time-converges** a very Happy Birthday!

* * *

**Part Five**

.

It was when one of the music teachers, Mr Wilkinson, perched himself in front of the piano that things began to go downhill in her opinion, mainly because people started to perform like they were in a Jane Austen novel. There seemed to be an unspoken list of people being chosen to sing. 'Please don't ask me, please don't ask me,' Donna kept inwardly chanting; but it was to no avail.

"Mrs Smith has not entertained us with a rendition yet," announced Mr Wilkinson after four people had sung, and her impression of him sunk from being a kind and cuddly man to the spawn of an illegitimate relationship.

What clinched it was the Doctor leaping forward and declaring, "My wife has the most beautiful voice. You really must hear it. Come Donna." And with that he grabbed hold of her shoulders and dragged her to stand beside the piano.

'You ratbag! You evil, conniving, revenge seeking git!' she thought as she tried to resist his insistent demands.

"You know you love singing to an audience," he told her, winding his arm possessively around her waist to keep her from escaping.

"My husband is far too kind," she told the assembled staff. "I couldn't carry a tune home in a bucket."

"No, you are being far too modest," the Doctor countered. "Her favourite is that Florrie Forde wedding song."

"Good choice!" Mr Wilkinson proclaimed, and started to play the introduction.

No! Surely he wasn't forcing her to sing this one! She had once sung it as a joke when she had first boarded the TARDIS; thanks to her Gramps often singing the old musical hall song, she had known the words to it, and had given the Doctor a heartfelt performance. They'd had a really good laugh about it at the time; especially as it had seemed to fit her circumstances. But she wasn't so sure of her possible reception in her current situation as everyone was looking at her expectantly and the Doctor was making sure she didn't scarper.

Mr Wilkinson nodded at her for her cue to begin, so she very hesitantly sung, "I'm in a nice bit of trouble, I confess; somebody with me has had a game. I should by now be a proud and happy bride, but I've still got to keep my single name…" In no time at all she reached the chorus, and performed all the actions. "There was I, waiting at the church, waiting at the church, waiting at the church; when I found he'd left me in the lurch. Lor, how it did upset me! All at once, he sent me round a note. Here's the very note, this is what he wrote: "Can't get away to marry you today, my wife, won't let me!""

There was laughter from every corner of the room at this so she continued with the next verse and chorus, finishing on a flourish that had everyone joining in. The round of applause it received pleased her immensely, and she immediately forgave the Doctor for forcing her into an impromptu recital. She even let him proudly kiss her temple.

"You are a natural, my dear," Mr Wilkinson complimented her before beckoning Mrs Mason, the deputy headmaster's wife, over to sing for them.

The Doctor had offered and then gone to get Donna a drink when Mr Baillie shuffled up to beam at her. "That was a most becoming performance, Mrs Smith. May I congratulate you?" he wondered.

'You can do whatever you like, mate, as long as you don't touch me,' she thought, and then plastered on a smile. The man before her was quite handsome in a rugged sort of way, but there was something about him that put her nerves on edge. "That is very generous of you, Mr erm…?" Well, she had to pretend she didn't know his name yet.

"Oh do forgive me!" He bound forward and took her hand to shake. "I'm Alfred Baillie, the art teacher," he introduced himself.

She fought her desire to tear her hand out of his grasp, and instead attempted to smile sweetly. It never paid to piss people off unnecessarily; and you never know, he might turn out to be completely lovely and misunderstood. "That must be quite a challenge for you. Is it all battle scenes that the boys want to produce?"

He hadn't let go of her hand. "The older boys like nubile young women, but it is hard to get models to pose naked for us."

"How unfortunate," she replied, whilst thinking, 'No way, mate! So don't even think about asking me.'

"I see you've made another new friend, Donna," the Doctor arrived at that moment to state.

She smiled at him in relief and accepted the glass of sherry he had acquired for her. "Yes, Mr Baillie was just telling me that he has difficulty finding models to pose naked. Do you know anyone who would do that for him?"

His face went stern. "No! I know of no one at all who would do so. But you would be a fine model for a portrait if I were ever inclined to paint you."

"Do you paint, Dr Smith?" Mr Baillie challenged him.

Uh oh! Donna sensed a possible contest between the two men.

"Yes, I do, but since I have been married to Donna I have not had the time to enjoy those sorts of pastimes," the Doctor re-joined.

"I'm sure you find your pastimes most refreshing," Mr Baillie commented. "And Mrs Smith would indeed make a fine subject to explore."

You what? Were they talking about sex?! Surely not. She cast her gaze between them, trying to ascertain what was going on. "You are too kind, Mr Baillie; and I think my husband is biased in my favour," she said in her effort to soothe the situation. "If anyone should be painted it is you, John," she intentionally gushed; taking his hand to emphasise her words.

He did the gentlemanly gesture of raising her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. "Then it shall be my pleasure to create your portrait in order to prove my point," he murmured; and she found herself melting under his intense gaze.

Was it suddenly hot in the room, or was it her? And she didn't have a free hand to fan herself with either. "Prove away, dearest husband," she purred at him, and gained the blush she was after.

When they eventually turned their attention away from each other, Mr Baillie had crept away. How rude of him, Donna thought, and then mentally shrugged. Who cared?

* * *

Shortly afterwards the talking all stopped and people left to go bed. It was an early start for most of the staff, and John readily offered his arm to escort Donna back to their rooms.

Walking through the school halls was quite eerie in the gloom as they made their way to their new home. Donna wondered if she'd ever get used to candle light and oil lamps to illuminate things. As it was she had to keep reminding herself to not be frightened of the shadows and that ghosts don't exist. It was a perfect place to go hunting for spooks. If she clung to his arm a bit more than she should have done, that wasn't bad, was it? But fortunately John kept up some constant chat about all the things he had found out that evening to distract her attention and amuse her.

Jenny had lit the lamp in the bedroom by the time they returned from the soirée. Donna found it a bit disconcerting that someone could come and go as they pleased and spy on them if they felt such an inclination. But that wasn't her worry as they contemplated getting ready for bed; the man standing by her side was. How should they do this?

"Would you like to do your ablutions first, Donna?" the Doctor magnanimously offered.

"Thank you," she answered with more than a touch of relief. His gentlemanly ways always astounded her, even as this different person. Or should that be especially as this new person? He wasn't drunk, not by a long chalk; but that fact would not have stopped some men from straying from politeness. Yet again, she felt like kissing him in gratitude. Instead, she headed into the bathroom.

Having washed, changed into her nightdress and brushed her teeth, she slunk out and into the bedroom. Thank goodness the Doctor had also politely turned his back despite the fact the TARDIS had provided her with a dressing gown. Could he be any sweeter? She pounced onto her bed and snuggled down under her bedclothes whilst he carried out his own night-time routine, leaving it to him to turn out the light.

Except he didn't do that immediately. Instead he had made his way over to her bed and sat hesitantly on the edge of the mattress.

"Donna, do you mind if we discuss what was said earlier this evening?" he requested.

Oh dear, here it came; the words she had been dreading. Keeping a tight hold of her top sheet, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. "Quite a lot of things were said this evening, John. Which particular part are you concerned about the most?"

Unusually for him, he set his stern gaze on to her face. "I wanted to cover the little matter of you seeming to think I'm a… a…" Obviously the words sat like bile in his mouth. "A Nancy boy."

She gasped; glad on one level that he hadn't brought up all that love nonsense, but shocked that she had made such an awful mistake, judging by his expression. "I am so sorry for upsetting you, John," she blurted out.

He briefly closed his eyes in exasperation. "I have been accused of this in the past, but to hear such words fall from your lips. To hear my wife, of all people, say defamatory things about me, I cannot…"

He was shaking his head so sadly that Donna could not stay resting in her bed as she was, and she flung herself out of the covers to throw her arms around his shoulders in her eagerness to comfort him. "I didn't understand, I am such an idiot," she whispered, and then gave into her impulse to kiss his cheek, twice. "I mistook gentleness for lack of interest."

The wanted sensation of the kisses almost totally distracted him for a second. "Lack of interest?" he queried as he raised his head. "I assure you that I would not have asked you to marry me if I had no interest in you."

His dark liquid brown pools of hurt bore into her as she gazed back. "Then you'd better tell me exactly why you married me," she breathily suggested. "Because I was under the impression you did it to protect me."

"I did want to protect you," he confessed, and anxiously licked his lips as he considered his next move.

"I'll tell you what," Donna cut across his thoughts by announcing, "I know what I'm going to do to you."

"You do?" he gasped out. Was she…? Were they…?

A huge mischievous grin lit up her face. "Yes! This…" And she pushed him backwards onto the bed, looming over him as she knelt to determine her landing point. "Let's see if I can brighten your mood."

When her mouth didn't aim for his lips but went for his lower torso he almost had an anticipating ecstasy attack; but instead she shoved her hands under his pyjama jacket and exposed his stomach.

"What are you do-?" He didn't get the chance to finish his question because her mouth clamped onto the tender flesh above his belly button and she began to blow raspberries; making him squeal with laughter. "Stop it!" he shrieked through his giggles after some minutes.

"You want me to stop doing this?" she asked, and blew another couple of raspberries on his belly.

"Yes, that," he stuttered out. "I shall have to seek my revenge."

"I thought you already had," she stilled to comment. "Or are you trying to claim making me sing in front of all your new cronies was something else?"

She fixed her gaze on him whilst he squirmed yet again. How did she do that to him every time? Catching his breath, he admitted, "I did force you to sing; but I only did it because I truly think they should hear your voice. There was, however, a little bit of revenge involved, since I know how modest you normally are."

"You honestly think…?" She was stunned for some seconds by his compliment; she had honestly thought he had been taking the piss out of her singing. The Doctor had never said anything about it at all.

"I do," he confirmed, and made the most of his opportunity to sit back up. He mentally noted that her hands had not left his body but were currently resting on his shoulders. This could be a beneficial situation.

"Ain't you lovely!" she softly declared. "I could… In fact I'm going to do it any way. Thank you, John." And her lips were suddenly on his, offering a chaste kiss that didn't give him a chance to reciprocate before she was pulling away from him.

Excitement, regret, arousal, and several other emotions washed over him. "You are very welcome," he stammered out. "I need to… I need to erm…"

"Aw my poor baby! You must be tuckered out after the day you've had, and you must be desperate to get into bed," she reasoned.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** sorry for the delay, but when I haven't been driving around half the county I've been in bed again.

* * *

**Part Six**

.

Oh yes! He was desperate to get into bed alright! "Well, I could…," he started to say; but her hand had travelled up to slowly caress his cheek with tender sweeps, and he really didn't want the moment to stop. Instead, he leaned into her touch, enjoying the feel of her soft hand petting him.

She trailed a finger over his eyebrow, following the course of the dark hairs closely, moving under his intense scrutiny; amazed that he was allowing her to do so. "Then I'll let you get some sleep, shall I? Good night, John," she whispered.

"Good night, Donna," he whispered back, and eased forward in invitation.

But instead of the desired kiss, she patted his cheek. "Blimey, it's a big day for you tomorrow, so we'd better get up bright and early. Night, sweetheart."

What? That was it? Disappointment raged through him. "Yes it is," he agreed and averted his gaze. "I should get myself into my bed."

If you don't move any second now I'm likely to do something stupid that I'll regret, she thought. Damn man and his puppy dog eyes. "Best to," she encouraged him. "See you in the morning."

She laid down, hoping to dismiss him with the action, and hating the fact she had done so. But it was for the greater good, wasn't it? Peering at him as he clambered into his own bed, she queried, "We're doing the right thing here, aren't we, John?"

He stilled to answer her question. "Yes, I think so. It is different, but different does not mean bad," he consoled her fears.

His gaze settled on her hair lying loosely around her shoulders and over her pillow, stirring distantly unattainable memories of her letting her hair fall loose for him before. And stirring something else with its implications. His fingers itched to fondle a lock of her hair, to feel a precious curl and examine the light it held. But instead he kept his hands tightly above the bed sheet, resting on the eiderdown.

"Thank you," she responded and wriggled to get comfortable on the unfamiliar mattress. Her eyes closed when he extinguished the lamp, and she felt herself drift off when his voice abruptly woke her up.

"Did you mean it when you said you love me?" he near whispered.

Her startled eyes shot open in the darkness and her breathing went erratic. No! He mustn't believe anything romantic existed between them; it just wasn't allowed. If she pretended she was asleep already and hadn't heard he'd drop the matter… wouldn't he? Yes, that could work. Works for ostriches, apparently.

"Donna!"

Damn! She'd have to say something now. Mumbling, she pretended she was rousing from sleep. "John?" she groaned out. "Is something the matter?"

"No," he answered with some exasperation.

"Then why did you call me?" she asked sleepily.

"I didn't."

You what? The lying toad! "Don't make me come over there or you'll regret it," she threatened.

"Why? What are you going to do?" he asked with more than a hint of mischief in his voice.

Ooh! He wouldn't deliberately rile her, would he? "I've already attacked you tonight," she reminded him.

"Call that an attack…" He then giggled.

That made her sit up in anger. "Are you after a smacked botty, history boy?"

There was another giggle. "You're all talk," he goaded her.

"Why you…!" She was up and out of the bed in a blink of an eye, and aiming straight for him. Before she knew it, she had thrown back his bedcovers and was gripping the edges of his pyjama jacket. "Do you really think I won't slap your bum?!"

The Doctor dissolved into a fit of laughter, snickering like crazy. "I believe you," he spluttered out.

That was when a sudden thought struck Donna; or should that be rephrased as a body part? Oh dear! The item that she had caught a fleeting glimpse of when she had blown raspberries on him was now prodding her as her body relaxed its tight hold on his pyjama jacket. Poor bloke was on track for disappointment in that area, because she had no intention of helping him out… yet. Would it be within the bounds of close friends to consider it in the future; the helping out bit, that is? It wouldn't be the first time she had swapped experiences to save herself from having an unwanted sexual involvement with a man. Not that she had had any offers from a woman, mark you.

Another accidental prod brought her back into the room, and she let go of his jacket. It was obviously too exciting an event for him. "Good! Let that be a lesson to you," she reprimanded him, although much of the fire in her words had filtered away by now.

Then his hands came up and rested on her waist, making a silent plea that she would have to resist. In the moonlight his eyes had an eerily soft glow that reminded her of times spent sitting in the doorway of the TARDIS, watching the stars slowly go about their business in the cosmos. Or you could say it was a trick of the light.

"Donna," he gasped out as his fingers flexed, pulling her infinitesimally down onto his body.

Her hands shot onto his chest to push away and then stand. Regret raced through both of them, but she couldn't allow this to happen. Speaking as softly as she could, she told him, "John, I'm sorry. We have to be up early in the morning, so no more mucking about, eh?"

But he wasn't going to give up so easily. "Stay with me a bit longer, please Donna. I know we said we would sleep separately, but we _did_ spend the night together in the same bed that one time when we stayed in Stratford-upon-Avon, and nothing remiss happened."

Yes, because we were fully clothed, she wanted to snap back. "I know, John, but we had a bigger bed than this; not by much and, as you say, it was only the once." She then leant down and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "Night, sweetheart. Good luck for tomorrow."

What the…? John lay there wondering what had just happened. One moment they were having fun and the next she was rejecting him. Had she noticed his predicament? Had he disgusted her by being this way? Although she _had_ kissed him good night so it wasn't all bad, so he might be able to woo her into being thinking otherwise. "Please," he begged. "This will be only the once, I promise."

How could she refuse such a heartfelt plea? "Alright then," she decided. "But like before, _I_ cuddle _you_ and not the other way around. Is that understood? And I go before anyone can see me. Now shove over!"

"Yes, Donna," he tried not to eagerly agree, and scooted across the small space in the bed.

Where there's life there's hope; and he would never give up on her, not after the snippet of hope she had given him that evening. As he turned over to sleep, he quietly resolved to gain more than a taste of the life he wanted; he was going to feed until full.

Her arm rested lightly on his hip bone, her hand against his stomach, and his mind much lower. But wishful thinking would not make her do more with those fingertips that brushed enticingly across his bare skin once in a while. Instead, he drifted off into a vivid dream.

* * *

It was pretty early when Donna woke up, but even so there was the obvious sound of someone scuttling about. She lifted her head and was shocked to see Jenny kneeling before the fireplace holding several pieces of coal blazing away, stoking it up.

"Morning, madam!" Jenny cheerily greeted her. "I hope you slept well."

Oh God, no! What must Jenny think of her for sleeping in the Doctor's bed like this? It was best to brazen it out, she decided. "Not too bad, thank you. Did you sleep well, Jenny?" she asked as she swung her legs out of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

The Doctor slept blissfully on, undisturbed; with the faintest little snore whooshing out of his mouth. Donna thought he looked adorable like that, all calm and… well, ordinary; lying sparko like that. And she couldn't help smiling fondly at his sleeping form.

"Yes, thank you, madam," Jenny answered as she pulled herself up from resting on her haunches. "Will you and the master be wanting tea?"

"Yes please," Donna confirmed. "I'd love a cup; but please don't put yourself out on our account."

Jenny grinned. "Don't worry, madam; it's all part of my job."

The Doctor chose that moment to roll over and blindly make a grab her. "Come back to bed, Donna," he sleepily mumbled.

Oh dear! Donna felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment; so she batted his hands away. "Not now! Jenny is here," she whispered petulantly.

"Who?" he demanded. Opening his eyes, he wiped a hand down over his face. "Who did you say is here?" he asked again.

With a sideways movement, she nodded towards Jenny standing watching them with amusement. "Jenny. We met her yesterday when she brought us tea."

"Oh yes! Of course; that Jenny." He then peered blearily in her direction until he sought out his glasses and put them on.

"Good morning, sir," Jenny greeted him.

He cautiously drew up the bed sheet to his chin. "Good morning, Jenny. I am sorry that I am still in bed at this hour."

"That is to be expected, sir," Jenny answered politely. "I was just offering your wife a cup of tea. Would you like your breakfast yet?"

His eyes lit up in interest. "That would be lovely, thank you, Jenny."

She bobbed a curtsey, said her thanks and then scampered off.

"Well that didn't look fishy at all," Donna sarcastically remarked.

"A husband and wife sharing the same bed is definitely worthy of gossip in the servants' quarters," the Doctor pretended to agree.

"It might be considering this is a single bed," she tried to counter-argue.

"Then perhaps we should request a larger bed for us to share?" he proposed.

"What?!" She continued in shocked tones, "We can't do that!"

"Why not?" he indignantly demanded to know.

"Because," she replied. Oh heck! How was she supposed to argue this one now that she had caved into his request to spend the night in his bed? "It makes it sound like I'm a sex addict."

"Oh!" He hadn't thought in those terms, but he could see her reasoning, and why she was embarrassed considering their domestic arrangement. "Then you had better…"

"Yes, I will," she said firmly.

'Then why are you still sitting on my bed,' he couldn't help wondering. Not that he wanted her to leave. In fact he would welcome the chance to welcome her back in under the covers for at least a few minutes to explore the situation. And oh, didn't that cause him some problems thinking that! "Would you erm… would you kindly pass me my dressing gown, please Donna?" he murmured.

That confused her for a second. "It's only sitting there over the chair. Why do you need me to…?" Then the penny dropped, and she hastily scrambled for his gown and passed it to him. "Here you go, and you'd better use the bathroom first to wash and change."

"Thank you," he mumbled as he put it on as surreptitiously as he could and she politely found the sleeve of her nightdress extremely interesting.

By the time he re-emerged washed and shaved she had changed out of her nightie and had her dressing gown on, ready to carry out her ablutions. Within seconds there was a knock on the door and there followed an expectant buzz when Jenny appeared with a tray of breakfast goodies.

Fortunately Jenny didn't hang about for long, as she had many duties to perform during the morning rush; so the Doctor and Donna ate their first breakfast together as man and wife. Well, if they'd actually been married it would have been their first official, proper breakfast together. As it was, they felt rather naughty feasting sitting on the bed, snatching items off each other's plates and sharing plans for the coming day.

In next to no time it was time for him to head out into the teaching world, with his head held high, and his lesson plans in a folder under his arm. She proudly watched him go, and then turned her attention to the mountain of paperwork she had been provided with. Enjoying the thrill that went through her, she loaded up the ancient typewriter and started her task.

* * *

Round about eleven o'clock, Donna decided to have a break and go out for a breath of fresh air. There was all this beautiful countryside outside her window and she was stuck indoors moving nothing more than her hands; so it seemed perfectly logical to go and take a stroll.

All the boys had returned to classes after their midmorning recess, so there was no one to disturb her as she ambled through the grounds, exploring the various little nooks and niches as she went. Part of the gardens included a glorious clematis covered archway that led to an enclosed kitchen garden. Stepping in, she was most surprised to find Mr Baillie sitting on a bench.

"Mrs Smith! How lovely to see you. Would you care to join me?" he greeted her.

Oh gawd! How could she refuse and not appear to be completely rude? "Good morning, Mr Baillie. I do apologise for disturbing your meditation," she pleasantly replied.

"Not at all," he welcomed her, and patted the seat next to him in invitation. "I was merely sketching some flowers."

The gravel underfoot crunched as she stepped nearer and plopped herself on the furthest point away from him on the bench. Unfortunately he then sidled nearer, and smiled like the cat that had got the cream.

She automatically had her hand on standby alert to slap him one if he got even remotely frisky.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** argh! The order of this has caused me so many problems! I hope I've got it right.

* * *

**Part Seven**

.

Mr Baillie's smile grew even broader. "It is a most beautiful day, is it not, Mrs Smith?"

Well, if he insisted on making conversation, she supposed she ought to answer as best as she could. "Yes, it must be a record for this time of year."

"Oh indeed. Do you paint, Mrs Smith?" he mused.

Why did he keep using her name? Was he trying to memorise it or something? "No, I can't draw for toffee, let alone paint. I leave all the artistic stuff to my husband," she supplied.

"Ah yes, your husband, Dr Smith," he stated in questionable tones. "Has he produced any portraits of you?"

Nosey sod! It was none of his business. Should she pretend that the Doctor had painted her nude several times? Perhaps not, as he would more than likely ask to see them. "John hopes to find the time now that he is teaching and not carrying out his research. He is a remarkable man," she proudly said.

"He should find the time to sketch you. You have very fine cheekbones, if you don't mind me saying, Mrs Smith."

He was peering at her face closely now, and she wanted to push him away but couldn't without looking like an idiot.

"If you say so," she modestly commented.

"I do indeed say so. And your eyes are most unusual with their ring of fire encased within the blue. Remarkable; almost breath-taking," he insisted.

"I wouldn't go as far as saying that," she muttered. "John's the good looking one in our relationship."

"You talk a great deal about your husband, Mrs Smith, but little concerning yourself," he noted. "Why is that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I do it because I'm not interesting, whereas he is."

"Oh no," he breathily replied. "Quite the contrary. You are an enigma, with your colouring, your demeanour, and your method of talking."

"What me?" she wondered. "All I do is open my mouth and out it comes. There's no mystery and nothing to worry about with that."

He gently laughed. "You are most refreshing!"

"Likewise I'm sure." A small smile escaped her despite her best efforts. "I'd better go before someone sees me here and gets the wrong idea."

"No, please stay awhile," he requested with a tender touch on her forearm. "I wish to learn more about you."

"I haven't got to write an essay, along the lines of 'what I want to do when I grow up' have I?" she teased him, and then wished she hadn't. There was something about him that she didn't want to encourage.

His laugh was full-blown this time. "No, my dear; there is no need to produce an essay for me. Does Dr Smith ever request such things from you?"

Never you mind what he asks of me! And it ain't kinky either. "No, he just needs me to decipher his notes; which reminds me, I'm supposed to be back at my desk by now and not jaunting around the gardens wasting time." She stood up decisively then, fully prepared to leave.

"May I ask that we meet again to discuss life, or enjoy the sunshine together? I would love to sketch you, if you would give me permission." Mr Baillie sat looking up at her expectantly.

Should she say 'yes' or should she follow her instincts and tell him to bugger off? "I erm… I thank you for your kind offer and for your interest, Mr Baillie. I will consult my husband on this matter."

"Does a woman such as yourself need to seek permission from her husband?" he goaded her.

That made her angry. "I don't need permission from him or anybody else! The fact is, I respect my husband's wishes, and I want to discuss this with him. We have never had any secrets between us, and I do not intend to start now. Good day, Mr Baillie."

Her words shook him. "Mrs Smith, I did not mean to offend you. Please accept my sincerest apologies. I merely sought your company for a few minutes."

Ooh, a get out for her. Yay! "Whether you meant to offend me or not, you have, Mr Baillie. So I shall take my leave of you and return to the work I have agreed to carry out."

Striding away from him, she felt quite good. Mission accomplished, and she hadn't slapped him once. Not that he wouldn't possibly get a smack in the future if he carried on the way he was, but it was a positive that she hadn't completely lost her rag with him; yet.

* * *

Donna remembered the night the nightmares started very well. They had only been at Farringham School for two whole days, and she had returned to the safety of her own bed. It had begun with the Doctor thrashing desperately in bed, mumbling Rose's name; so she had woken and climbed temporarily in with him, cradling his body as though he was a small boy, and held him while he cried.

It would be the first of many nights where she would wake up in anticipation around four o'clock, always ready to comfort him after he had woken from a graphic nightmare, offering soft words to ease his fears; and each morning she made sure she had returned to her own bed in time to avoid being caught there by Jenny.

"I'm sorry," he had whimpered that first night through his tears, afraid she would be angry about being woken.

"It's okay," she had whispered back her reassurance. "This is what I'm here for." She had then pressed a loving kiss to his forehead and cuddled him tight.

That seemed to easily ease him that time, and he had soon drifted back off into sleep. She had lain there for a while, making sure he was sleeping soundly before risking returning to her own bed.

In the morning he had again apologised for waking her, but she would have nothing of it. "Stop apologising, John! You didn't mean to have that nightmare, and you didn't wake me on purpose. If this keeps up you'd better start a dream diary."

A what? A diary for dreams was a new idea. "Why do you suggest such a thing?" he had wondered.

Oh erm... How could she excuse this therapy trick? "Did not Dr Freud recommend that we examine our dreams to explain our neuroses?" she asked him. Oops! Was she supposed to even know who Sigmund Freud was in this time period? She held her breath, but it seemed she had gotten away with it for now.

John sat thoughtfully considering this. "I have been plagued with nightmares for many years now, so perhaps this method could work." He then turned a bright, sunny smile onto her. "If it works I will have you to thank, my brilliant wife."

She allowed him to take her hand and kiss it. Well, she was doing no harm by allowing this, was she? And it felt rather nice being treated in this way, as if she really meant something to a man. "Shall I fetch some paper so that you can start to make notes now?" she offered.

Another grateful kiss followed, melting more of her resolve. "I would be most appreciative if you did, my l-...my Donna; and I shall procure a special notebook in order to retain my dreams."

"I could easily walk into the village and get you one this morning if you like," she suggested. "It would be no bother."

That earned her an extremely gooey look for a moment before it was replaced with concern. "Is it wise to go there alone? It might not be safe," he worried. You hear tales of defenceless decent women being attacked by the lower classes, after all.

"What, frightened I'll beat them all up if they come near me?" she teased him, and gained a joyful relieved smile in answer. "It would do me good to walk somewhere other than the school grounds. Especially when you consider who has been lying in wait for me."

What?! The concern turned instantly into an angry frown. "Who has been lying in wait?" he demanded to know.

Oh bugger! She hadn't intended to worry him with this unless it got serious. "I don't want you to fret, dear husband, but both days I have walked in the garden to gain some much needed fresh air… and I am not complaining about your notes before you start wondering that one... Each day I have come across Mr Baillie in the grounds." When the Doctor visibly started, she quickly added, "I am sure he means to be nothing more than friendly, but it would be nice to erm, to avoid him for a change."

He grabbed hold of her hands. "Donna, tell me please. Has he made any untoward suggestions? Has he upset you by forcing his attentions upon you?"

"Well, only if you count repeating his offer to paint me. He even pulled out his sketchbook yesterday. But I refused to let him lift a pencil until I had spoken to you about it," she assured him.

Although he still felt angry with Baillie, relief flooded him at her words. "Why did you not mention this last evening when we met?"

She immediately apologised, "Because you had so much to tell me about the boys, there was dinner, you supervising prep, and then it went completely out of my head. I am so sorry for forgetting."

"No, I am sorry for not thinking to ask after your day," he crooned, as pride in her actions swelled up, making him want to gloat. "I shall rectify that in future. By all means have a pleasant walk into the village, and I want to know all about it when we meet up later."

She snorted her scorn. "Are you sure you want to know? It'll be awfully boring."

He didn't look convinced by her argument. "Everything you tell me is of interest. Now I must be off, and we shall resume this conversation later."

"Bye then," she answered with relief, and dutifully offered her cheek for him to kiss. He very willing obliged.

Phew! She felt so much better now that she had an excuse to avoid the garden later, and John was being a sweetie. If this dream diary idea worked for him then it would be totally worth it. And she mentally planned having an afternoon nap to catch up on her lost sleep.

* * *

Within the first week she established her working routine. Her day was spent typing up John's intricate notes, there was a morning break to walk or run through the garden (who would have thought she'd miss running as much as she did?), lunch was spent on her own, but afternoon tea was often spent in Joan's room; with the odd chat with Jenny or any passing boy in Joan's care. The boys may sound like stuck up little brats, but underneath it all they had all the same fears and dreams of other kids. Apart from the possibility of running the country in the future part, of course. But she started to avoid this when it hit her that many of them would probably die in the next four years, as the vast majority of British officers did, and the thought was too upsetting. It tainted her discussions with the boys after that.

One boy in particular both fascinated and weirded her out; his name was Timothy Latimer. The boy was psychic; somehow she could feel it when she spoke to him, but he would shake her hand and give her the most peculiar looks. Eventually an opportunity arose when she could take the chance to ask him what he saw.

He frowned at her in confusion. "You seem very different, Mrs Smith, as if you do not really belong here."

"Well, I've only got to open my mouth to speak and that much is obvious," she had jested in order to cover up her true feelings. You don't give kids that sort of ammunition; even she knew that at her advanced (in comparison) age.

"It isn't only that," he conceded. Speaking truthfully, he continued, "But it is hard for me to describe. When I collected a book from Dr Smith yesterday, I gained a flash of several strong images. Of a man who deals with all sorts of frightening things, like fire and loneliness, of monsters and a machine. What does it mean, Mrs Smith?"

She could see the worry on his young face, and she was desperate to ease his mind. "The Doctor has many nightmares about such things, Latimer; that's what you picked up on. They plague him a great deal, but he is gradually getting better."

"You help ease his heart," Latimer added thoughtfully.

"Thank you for saying that," she warmly told him. "I could get to like you rather a lot."

Latimer blushed with joy at the teasing praise. But it had set Donna wondering what else he could sense.

As he turned to leave her, Latimer thought to add, "He really does appreciate what you do for him."

Oh! She gave off that vibe, did she? Well it wasn't anything but true; she often wondered whether she was doing the right thing with the Doctor. "That's good to know," she muttered in answer.

"No, Mrs Smith," Latimer was keen to emphasise, "it runs deeper than what you think. His regard is..."

"Are you still in here, Latimer?" Joan appeared to admonish him, and then proceeded to shoo him away. "You will be late for your next class if you are not careful, and I do not think they will allow the excuse of talking to Mrs Smith to keep you out of trouble."

"Nor I," he agreed, and scuttled off after saying his goodbyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** this contains the bit some of you may have been waiting for!

**A/N2:** sorry for the delay but I've not had any internet connection for days! All fixed now, thankfully.

* * *

**Part Eight**

.

"What are you doing?" she asked when she caught John picking up a pencil and eyeing her thoughtfully.

The Doctor sheepishly admitted, "I was thinking of drawing you."

"Me? You ought to draw someone pretty, like Joan, rather than me," she modestly stalled him.

"No," he insisted as he stood up from his chair and walked over to where she sat at the small table they generally ate breakfast at. "I have every intention of drawing you," he continued to softly insist. He brought up a hand to tenderly remove a wisp of hair that had fallen down from her hairstyle and tucked it behind her ear, giving her cheek a caress as he did so. "May I draw you, Miss Noble?"

His eyes held such promises as she gazed back at him, they mesmerised her and tore away her resolve to resist his advances. "Yes," she said before she had even realised it. "Are you doing it now?"

"If I may," he replied. "And may I request that you let your hair down? I want to capture the side of you only I am allowed to see."

Help yourself, mate, she wanted to reply. The truth was that she hated having her hair up in this ridiculous bun thing whenever she ventured out of the door. "By all means do," she pleasantly acquiesced. "Shall I do it, or you?" she asked as she lifted her hands to take out the first pin.

"May I?" he requested, and covered her hands to assist the removal of the various hair pins.

There was a moment of sensual desire that engulfed her, reminding her of that classic scene in The Thomas Crown Affair where they played chess. The Doctor was having an effect on her as though he was wooing her; watching and memorising every movement she made. And her mind was aware of every little movement of his lips and hands as he concentrated on his task; placing each pin carefully on the table in front of her on the placemat. His breath wafted across her forehead, her ears, her neck; and she could easily imagine those lips following the same course. Why wouldn't he just kiss her and get it over with? Why did she want him to touch her with intimate sweeps? This was all so new, and would have been unimaginable a short while ago. This man before her was hers for the taking, but she must not lay a finger on him; not a single one! Anything that happened had to come from him, not her. She must not be seen to be taking advantage; and boy did she want to take advantage of him in that moment!

The last pin released the remaining lock of hair, and he was free to entangle his fingers within her hair, feel the weight of it as it glided over his fingers and examine the way the sunlight that poured in through the window was captured and spun within the colours as he altered the angles. "Beautiful!" he breathily stated.

"Pardon?" she inevitably questioned.

He kept hold of a particularly enticing curl whilst he told her, "You have beautiful hair."

It wasn't the first time he had made a general comment about loving ginger hair, or passed a compliment about her hair in particular; but this was different to those times. It felt very different. "Thank you, John. You can take a souvenir if you like."

"I can keep a lock of your hair?" he asked incredulously. "You would allow me that?"

"Of course I would." She smiled brightly up at him, not realising how momentous this was for him.

With glee, he bound away to find some scissors; and she sat there wondering what she had just agreed to. Was he making a voodoo doll, or taking his first steps as a stalker? It was possible, she reasoned as he reappeared wielding a pair of scissors. "You won't scalp me, will you?" she half jested. Well! A man with scissors could be lethal; you never know.

"I promise I shall only take a curl from where it won't be noticed," he vowed, lifting up a particular lock.

The scissors snipped a cut, and he stilled as he stood beside her; closing his eyes briefly. "You wear a divine perfume," he commented.

"Thank you," she automatically replied. "If you were a real fan I'd suggest you spray some onto a piece of card to go with the lock of hair."

"You would allow me to?" he sought to confirm. He loved the fact that she readily smiled in answer.

"It isn't much of a sacrifice on my part, is it? Help yourself. I have to make the most of you wanting to do so, after all. Knowing my luck you'll want to chuck it away by the time we have to leave," she honestly remarked.

John quickly placed the lock on the table and grasped both her hands, squeezing them with sincerity as he drew her up to stand. "Donna, I will keep it next to my heart to always remind me of you."

He couldn't mean that, could he? Not like it sounded. "Really?" she gasped as he pulled her nearer. "Are you sure?" 'Please make it so,' she silently begged.

"I am very sure," he whispered, leaning in. "Donna, may I kiss you?"

She was nodding before common sense took over. He took care to smoothly remove her glasses; and then his lips met hers. Time seemed to stand still as he gently pressed and she tried to resist the temptation to respond; but his hands had moved onto her back, easing her forward so that she had to wrap her arms around his neck to steady herself. And if her hands weaved their way into the hair at the base of his skull, that was logical considering he was easing her body backwards.

His mouth was weaving its own form of magic as he worshipped her with his tongue. Oh that tongue! His tongue had caressed her lips, begging for entry, and she surrendered, opening to let him in. It was so sweet, so addictive, as he mouthed her with tender desperation.

'Breathe woman, breathe!' she had to remind herself after some seconds had past. But she didn't want to let go, to break contact with this wonderful experience. At least she could say now that she had kissed John… I mean, the Doctor. It was all so muddled in her head.

The clock chiming insistently loudly was what broke the spell. Duty called, and Donna returned to her senses with a rush. Reluctantly, she pushed him away. "You need to go, John; they'll be waiting for you," she whispered.

It was true; someone would be waiting for him. It may be Monday morning but he was expected to attend church with his pupils that morning, and would not be free to do as he pleased until hours later.

"We can miss church just this once," he reasoned, not releasing his hold on her body.

"John, please; we should not be making waves," she tried to dissuade him, although her heart wasn't in it.

'No, we should be making love,' he wanted to declare. But he did not dare; not yet anyway.

"Very well," he reluctantly agreed, and faced his duty.

* * *

Donna must have been feeling tired because she suddenly couldn't make sense of a particular and vital set of words in the notes before her. The effort of using the typewriter was starting to make her fingertips ache too, so she obviously needed a rest. Or a decent drink, she thought as she eyed the near-empty bottle of sherry on the sideboard.

Getting up to stretch her legs, she strode over to the telescope set up in the bay window and peered out for some seconds. Oh dear lord! In clear view of the building was Mr Baillie. She could do without looking at him; and if she went outside for a walk she was likely to wander into him. No, she would have to do something else to fill the time.

What could she do while avoiding Dr Octopus, I mean, Mr Baillie? Her gazed settled on John's things.

A collection of John's books sitting on the shelf looked rather untidy, so she sauntered over and picked them up in order to dust and then rearrange them. Of course she misjudged it and picked up too many, with them ending up clattering onto the floor. Oops! Oh well, no harm done since he wasn't around.

One of the books, a thin one, had no title on the spine; so she turned it over to read what it was and found it to be written in his handwriting. He had called it A Journal of Impossible Things. Why had he done that? And should she flick through it even though he hadn't offered her a look? Feeling very guilty, she opened it. In there she found many of his adventures clearly laid out. Some of them she knew about from what he had told her; so the truth of them was not in question. Amongst the tales were also many sketches, of people she had never seen, so she had no way of knowing who they were. But there was a fascination with several men of varying ages, although they shared similar expressions.

She found a lovely portrait of Martha, that nice student doctor they had met in the Royal Hope; and then she came across a picture of a young woman she did not know but suspected was Rose. Perhaps it was the blonde hair that roused her suspicions? The hairstyle was a modern Veronica Lake one; all idealised, mysterious and femme fatale like. Not exactly a practical viewpoint of somebody, but then she _was_ trapped in an alternate universe like some tragic romantic novel character. No wonder he dreamed of Rose. Not that she thought it was healthy to do so but it made sense considering the first time she had seen him on her non-wedding day; and the nightmare the first time he had woken her with at some ungodly hour.

It unaccountably made her blood run cold as she gazed at the portrait; it confirmed everything she had suspected about their current relationship. He was running away from his grief, using her as his transition relationship, if it could be given such a grand title. Donna envied the next pretty young thing he met up with, because no doubt he would soon replace her after this little episode was over; out of embarrassment if nothing else.

Sighing, she despondently went to replace the journal when a couple of pieces of paper fluttered out. You what? Picking them up, she was extremely shocked to see images of herself on them. Photographs?! When had they been taken? Had these pictures been provided by the TARDIS? Logic said that was the answer. But the wording written on them took her aback.

One was a photo of her in her wedding dress, and underneath it were the words, "My new wife, my life" Another was simply tagged "Donna Smith-Noble", and there was one of them together in wedding attire with the label "Our wedding"

Why had the TARDIS done all this? What did it mean? Well, obviously she was trying to convince John that this marriage was real and a proper ceremony had taken place. There was even a small image of him placing the biodamper on her finger; a ring that still sat there. She absently fiddled with it using her thumb, reassured by its presence. There were no Huon particles this time to ruin things and make her visible.

If she read further it would be an invasion of his privacy, she suddenly decided. It was his business how much he loved and missed Rose, not hers; not unless he personally told her, since she didn't normally stick her nose in where it wasn't wanted. So she replaced the journal with its contents as carefully as she could and returned it to the bookshelf. 'Come on Donna,' she chided herself; 'get your act together. You are only here to do your job which has currently stalled because you can't understand a simple word or two.'

Her gaze returned to the tightly written notes sitting by the typewriter, and she made up her mind. She would go down to John's classroom and ask him personally. It would be a nice walk while the school corridors were clear and she would gain a rare chance to see him in his natural environment, as it were. Well, that was the theory anyway.

Picking up the notebook and a pencil to scribble in the margin with, she confidently left their rooms and made her way down the great carved staircase. Walking with purpose, she soon found John's classroom, and she cautiously knocked on the closed door. She'd never done this before, entered a classroom in this school; and the truth be told, she hadn't entered any classroom at all in over fifteen years.

Hearing no response at all, after a few seconds she risked opening the door a small crack to peep in. All the boys were attentively looking at John who was standing with his back to her, dealing with one of his young pupils.

Obviously something bad had happened because he was in a foul temper, shouting at the boy about the misdemeanour. John turned slightly and Donna could see that his face was twisted in outrage as he sneered in contempt. Then suddenly his expression calmed and… THWACK! His cane came crashing down on the desktop in front of the boy, who jumped in terror.

THWACK! He did it again, narrowly missing the boy's hand; and Donna gasped out in shock.

Every head turned to stare at her in wonder.


	9. Chapter 9

******Warning:** there is more than a hint of violence in this part.

**A/N:** we come to what I visualised as a key scene in this story. I'm not sure if you'll agree with me.

* * *

**Part Nine**

.

"Mrs Smith, what can I do for you?" John evenly asked her; the only sign of his discomfort was a slight flaring of his nostrils when he spoke.

What was the matter with her?! This could not be happening; not now.

Donna was suddenly lost for words, and her loss of breath caused her to pant. "S-sorry. I erm… I knocked on the door, Dr Smith, but no one answered. I er… I was hoping for a quick word about…" She then held up his notebook in demonstration as she flailed. "There's a phrase…," she tried to continue.

"Very well. Clarkson, stand up," he ordered, and then marched towards her. Using his body, he backed her out of the room, into the corridor, and shut the door firmly behind them. "Are you alright?" he instantly whispered with concern, and reached out to take her hand. "There seems to be a problem. You are looking very flushed."

It's not a problem, it's more like a revelation, she wanted to tell him. "It's nothing," she waved off. "I just needed to ask you what these words are right here. I can't get any further until I know." She flashed him the relevant page.

"No, you do not seem well. Let me escort you back to our rooms," he kindly insisted. "I can feel your heart racing away."

Well he would, judging by the way he was holding her wrist possessively and masterfully. Do you think he'd be masterful and possessive with her? What was the matter with her?! She ought to be screaming at him for being a sadistic brute to that poor boy. Well, he'd have her full sympathy if she hadn't heard what the little guttersnipe had done to one of the other boys. As it turned out, he fully deserved it, but that wasn't her problem. The problem was currently standing in front of her and she didn't know how to control this one.

She swallowed nervously before answering, "Honestly, I'll be fine. You have work to do. Come up and see me lunchtime instead. Your little darlings might be running riot in there by now."

"They wouldn't dare," he confidently replied; and noticed a shiver go through her. "Donna, are you ailing with something?"

She shook her head to clear it of these thoughts. That tone in his voice should not be having this effect on her. Had he drugged her somehow when he had kissed her earlier? "I erm... I'm fine; more than fine. Just promise me you'll pop up later to see me," she almost begged. How could she make it clearer that she wanted him in private?

What was going on? She was acting very strange. "Very well, I promise," he swore, and kissed her hand. "Until later then." Goodness, he didn't want to leave her on her own like this, but as usual Donna knew her own mind. He smiled encouragingly at her and then swept back into the classroom. "Clarkson, you may sit down," he barked out and closed the door.

The quietness of the corridor seemed surreal. What the hell was that just then?! Donna stood crushing herself up against the wall, hoping to ground herself, protecting her from this sudden onslaught of feelings and cooling her ardour down. Wow! Why hadn't she noticed before? Seeing him wield a cane like that, it was so… hot! He really took control without batting an eyelid; the whole bumbling thing was obviously a façade when he was around her. Beneath that mild exterior was this potential sex god.

A hysterical giggle escaped her lips. Had she really thought that about the Doctor? Except he wasn't the Doctor to her anymore; he was John, and she had been mentally thinking of him in that way for days now, she realised. It had been John who had used that cane in such an authoritative manner; and she wanted him. She wanted him in a way that she had never thought imaginable; preferably naked and with that cane in his hand. Who would have thought she had such a fetish?! She was shocked at herself. It was like suddenly finding out you have a craving for olive flavoured chocolate; although I suppose that could happen when you are pregnant.

"Mrs Smith, are you unwell?" Joan's query came down the corridor when she spied Donna almost clinging to the wood panelling.

Relief flooded Donna when she saw it was Joan and not someone else, like the Headmaster. "Not really, thank you, Nurse Redfern," she confessed as Joan walked towards her. "But I would benefit from your company whilst drinking tea if that can be arranged."

"It can indeed," Joan replied in friendly tones. "Come with me."

It was only as she accompanied Joan that Donna realised that she hadn't learned what the elusive words in the notebook were. Never mind, he had promised to visit her lunchtime, so she had time to compose herself before he arrived within the next two hours or so.

* * *

"Mrs Smith!" an unwelcome voice called out down the corridor after Donna as she stepped out and left Joan to resume her work.

She turned to see Mr Baillie grinning inanely at her. Oh bugger! Did the man ever spend time in his own classroom? "Good morning, Mr Baillie," she politely greeted him. "Have you abandoned your garden sketches today? Your regular bench must miss you."

"Alas, dear lady, I have missed your company in the garden, so I came to seek you out," he admitted. Now any normal man would at least feign some modicum of decency, but there was an element about Mr Baillie that seemed rather proud of the fact he was deliberately seeking her out.

"I am sorry to hear that," she tried to sympathise as she continued to walk along the corridor towards their rooms. The bell was about to go and she really did not want to be caught in the middle of the main thoroughfare with him of all people. Especially if it meant having to walk closer to him to avoid being crushed by a bunch of schoolboys possibly on the lookout for a quick grope. "I was called into Nurse Redfern's office."

"Ah, Nurse Redfern," he noted absently. "She is a friend to many."

Now didn't that sound potentially catty? There was the hint of a slur in his tones.

They had reached the bottom step of the staircase by this point in the conversation, and the school bell rang, so half of Donna's attention was distracted for a second. "Do you not approve of Nurse Redfern, Mr Baillie?" she asked, at the ready to defend her dear friend Joan's honour.

Mr Baillie swept his gaze furtively around the vicinity, and then beckoned her nearer with a flex of his index finger. "If I may confide in you, Mrs Smith; Nurse Redfern was rather taken with me when I first arrived in this establishment, but I had to thwart her attentions," he confessed.

Really? In your dreams, mate! It was the other way around from what Joan had said; and Donna had found it easy to believe her. "How unfortunate for both parties concerned," she replied evenly. "Fortunately there is no one to annoy you in such a way now." She smiled her sweetest smile, hoping he'd would take the hint, and bugger off!

Alas he didn't. Instead he used the excuse of the turning staircase to move closer. "There is no annoyance at all, I assure you," he agreed with a smirk. "Unless you count the fact that you, Mrs Smith, will not allow me to even sketch you."

Anger flared through her at his verbal prod. She firmly told him, "I have told you, Mr Baillie that my husband does not approve." Then she stepped off the top of the stairs.

"And what about you, dear lady?" he asked as he joined her on the landing and edged closer still. "I am sure I can tempt you to reconsider," he carefully enunciated.

Her door was only five yards away now; if she could just get to the door and dive inside she was sure she could shake him off. "I assure you that my mind is made up, and _if_ I pose for anyone it would only be for Dr Smith."

His voice dropped an octave as his hand reached out to touch her arm. "Such loyalty is a wonderful thing to behold, but we could easily meet in private somewhere, say the stables, and he need never know of our… tryst."

Surely he wasn't trying it on, not properly? She couldn't believe her ears! In milliseconds her hand twitched and…

SMACK!

"What was that for?!" he indignantly protested as he nursed his offended cheek.

Donna scowled at him. The git! "Why do you think, Mr Baillie? That line may work on gullible young women but it won't wash with me!" she told him sternly.

But it didn't work as she had planned.

"I like your fire, Donna. May I call you Donna? In return, you may call me Alfred when we are alone like this." He had pushed her up against a door and had clamped his hands around her upper arms, pinning her in place; preventing her from being able to raise a hand let alone slap him again. His unwelcome hot breath slobbered over her like a St Bernard with the flu as his lecherous tone continued. "You really are…"

Donna had shut her eyes tight as he had loomed nearer, not wanting to see him up close; but suddenly he had loosened his grip and she was free. What had happened? And then the answer was revealed; John had Mr Baillie held up by the throat!

"Keep away from my wife!" he spat out through gritted teeth. John then efficiently threw back his fist and punched Mr Baillie hard in the face.

Mr Baillie staggered away in shock. "I did not… I never…," he tried to excuse himself; but John merely stood glaring at him until he crept away back into the hole he had emerged from.

Oh my goodness! She thought John was magnificent as he stood controlling his angry panting! As he turned his steady gaze onto her, Donna blurted out, "You saved me, John. Thank you!"

"He was hurting you," he stated as though he needed to defend his actions.

"Nowhere near as much as he could have done," she gratefully consoled him, and rested her hands on his chest, needing to touch him. "You defended my honour, so I need to reward you," she shyly continued. "What would you like me to do?" Oh dear! Didn't that invite a dodgy answer from him?

John wrapped his arms around her waist, eagerly drawing her closer. "Spend the night with me," he huskily requested, "in my bed."

"For you, my knight in shining armour, anything," she whispered. Kiss me, she silently begged. "And bring your cane." Oops! Had she said that out loud?

What?! He pulled back to ask, "My cane? Why would you want me to bring my cane?"

D'uh! Because you look damned hot with it; because you make me want you to playfully threaten me with it; because I apparently have a strange kink that I never knew I had. And I keep thinking things I really shouldn't. "To frighten your nightmares away with, so that we won't be disturbed," she suggested.

A dainty furrow appeared on his brow. "For you I will," he vowed and then crushed her to his body to briefly kiss her lips. "I have to be on duty in five minutes otherwise we would have continued this delightful conversation immediately. As it is, I have to reluctantly leave you." He really didn't want to walk away but unfortunately he could not stand there all day embracing her. "Until this evening…"

"Until then," she echoed. "I look forward to seeing you; very much," she practically purred.

This woman would be the death of him at this rate. With a tender touch to her cheek, he tore himself away and strode purposefully down the corridor back to duty. They exchanged one last long lingering look as he stood at the top of the staircase, and then he was gone.

She caught herself from swooning to the floor by clinging desperately to the door handle. Could he be more sexy? With a goofy smile she turned back towards their rooms and caught sight of Mrs Hopkins!

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hopkins," she stammered out.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Smith," Mrs Hopkins returned the greeting. "Was that your husband I just saw you with?"

"Erm… yes," Donna cautiously replied. "Did we disturb you?"

"Not at all!" Mrs Hopkins gleefully replied. "It is always a pleasure to see you together."

Donna wondered, "So you don't mind…?" How much should she ask?

Mrs Hopkins had reached Donna by this point, and patted her on the arm. "Of course not. And if you ever decide to bottle what you have, I would like to purchase some, please."

That caused them to both laugh together. Then Mrs Hopkins continued on her way to supervise part of the school play rehearsals.

Stepping into their bedroom an hour later to take her normal afternoon nap since having to cope with John's nightmares, Donna was totally stunned to see the two single beds had been pushed together. He must have returned and done this before finding her being accosted by Mr Baillie. What did this mean? And in light of his request she would never be able to resist temptation now in a million years.

The TARDIS! Donna needed to consult with the TARDIS to find out if any of this was allowed.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I will probably be changing the rating after this part, just to be on the safe side... unless you'd prefer that I kept all references to smut out?

* * *

**Part Ten**

.

Who thought she would find herself racing through the school using her ninja moves? Thank goodness she had brought a handbag mirror with her, as the dressing table hand mirror was extremely unwieldy to try and carry about in your pocket. She probably looked completely stupid creeping along a corridor and then hugging the corner as she swiped the mirror over the edge to find out if anyone was lurking.

In this case her main worrying was finding Dr Octopus lurking in the shadows or anywhere else; but fortunately the coast was completely clear. Perhaps he was monopolising Joan at that very moment with his tale of woe? All she knew was that he was nursing his potentially broken nose and hiding from John, with very good reason.

Her hero!

'Right; get that thought out of your head, missy,' her sensible side told her as happy thoughts of snuggling with John filtered through.

Running as fast as her legs could carry her, she sped towards the TARDIS and home. Double checking both ways to make sure no one was in the vicinity or could see her progress through the small wood on the edges of the school estate, she crawled into the old shed used by the gamekeeper and gasped in awe as she caught sight of the TARDIS for the first time in ages!

My, she had missed her. "Hello, old girl," she reverently greeted her with a fond pat on the wooden panelling. "Have you been okay without us? I really hope so." She then added as an afterthought, "We should have got you a pet to play with while we were away. I'm so sorry you've been neglected. Anyway, I hope you have some vital information for me."

With that declaration, she brought out her key that hung on a chain around her neck and open the TARDIS door. The lights brightened as she entered, and warm air greeted her as Donna bound up the ramp towards the monitor. Donna immediately giggled with delight. "Ooh, I love you! I can hardly wait for when we can come back and spend proper time with you; won't be too long now." Her eyes sought out the monitor. "I just need some information. Can you show me the message the Doctor made while I was faffing about getting into this getup?"

The monitor sprung into life with an image of the Doctor in mid-flow.

"Yes, that's the blighter," Donna remarked, and reached out to rest her fingertip lovingly on him, smiling fondly. "What have you got to tell me that's helpful about our setup?"

She then pressed the 'play' button on the interactive screen and listened to him.

"I need you to look after me, Donna," he said sincerely.

"Well, yeah! Tell me something I don't know," she commented.

"Make sure I don't abandon you," he fretted.

"I don't think I can class what you've done as abandoning me in the slightest," she happily answered him.

"Make sure I don't eat pears. I hate pears!" he ordered with contempt. "I shall know if I've eaten pears."

"That rules out pear-flavoured body oil then," she joked, and then blushed with embarrassment. "Sorry," she murmured to the TARDIS.

There was a load of blah yadda, yadda blah. How many points?! Did he really have the time to think all this up on the spot? And then there was the last point of all.

"And whatever I do, make sure I don't hurt you," he sadly requested.

"Oh John!" She threw her hands over her mouth to stop a sob escaping. "I'm in danger of having my heart broken by you, but I know you'd never hurt me intentionally."

Then the film stopped.

"That was it? You actually stopped right there, you stupid git?! This doesn't help me in the slightest," she complained loudly; and then watched the whole thing again, just to make sure.

With a dissatisfied groan, she sat back and considered her options. "That was no help at all; I'm stumped. I've promised to spend tonight in your bed and sex is inevitable at the rate we're going. You are going to absolutely hate me when you return to normal, and I really don't want that. So what am I supposed to do now?"

A flash of blue light to her side caught her attention, so Donna turned her head to see where it was coming from. "You want me to go to the kitchen?" she asked the TARDIS. "Why? Okay, I'll go and look."

Getting up, the screen switched off as she made her way into the kitchen and found, to her delight, a refreshing mug of tea sitting on the table. "You beauty! Thank you," she cried out as she picked the mug up. And then laughed ruefully when she saw what was sitting on the kitchen table behind the mug.

Lying on the table top was a pill; presumable a contraceptive tablet, judging by the timing. "Alright, I get the picture. Either I'm ill, I didn't know it and this is a super duper antibiotic; or this is a mega powerful contraceptive and you actually condone what is going to happen. Then again, you might be maintaining damage control; that's a possibility. Here goes whichever it is." Donna picked up the pill, placed it trustingly on her tongue, and used a gulp of tea to swallow it. "If that was a cyanide capsule of some sort, you get the job of cleaning up my body," she joked, and gained a cold blast of air for her trouble. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too!"

She giggled for a second, and then sobered to caress the wall beside her before heading for the main doors. "If this goes all Pete Tong, and I'm turfed out on my earhole when he realises he's made a humongous mistake by sleeping with me, I want you to know that I will always be grateful you rescued me from my marriage to Lance; the git! And my only regret will be causing you and the Doctor grief. I love him in so many ways; it's not even funny anymore." She stood looking at the console room from the open TARDIS door, and added, "Goodbye sweetheart. I'll do my best to make sure he's safe and happy so that he can return to you; promise."

With one last parting kiss blown to the TARDIS, Donna walked away; wiping away a sudden tear as she did so. It seemed cruel to leave the TARDIS on her own in the musty gloom, but what else could she do?

* * *

It was dinner time when Donna got back to the school, bobbing as she went; so she made her way straight into the refectory to eat. John keenly greeted her as she sat down next to him. Mrs Hopkins smiled knowingly at her from across the table, as did her husband. Did everyone think he was on a promise?

Moving on…

John took hold of her hand and used it to wrap her arm around his as they left the refectory and headed towards their rooms to spend the rest of the evening alone together. "What would you like us to do first?" he asked her on entering their home and shutting the door.

'The bed. The bed!' her mind yelled at her. "I think we should do what you wanted to do earlier," she proposed.

The breath stuttered in his throat. "You do not mind if we do?" he anxiously wondered.

"Of course not," she replied, and smiled broadly at him. "Now where would you like me to pose for your drawing? And what sort of effect where you going for?"

"Drawing?" he echoed in disappointment for a second, and then found some very redeeming qualities about it. "I want to capture the real you. The you I am allowed to see, or will be allowed to see, if you are willing."

"Just ask and you shall receive," she replied enigmatically. "Well? What's the verdict? Where should I sit, and did you want me to change my clothes?"

"Could I erm…" He steered her towards the bedroom, and she immediately went onto red alert! "I want you as natural as possible, reclined on the bed."

"Are you saying you want me naked?!" she blurted out; and immediately regretted it. Of course he wanted her naked; that had been clear from their very first night together. How far was she actually prepared to go with this, so soon?

John blushed to the tips of his ears and his eyes went wide. "I…" He then coughed in embarrassment. "I would love to erm… whatever you will…," he stammered, hastily adjusting his collar.

She took pity on him and calmed him by running her hands over his chest. "We'll compromise, shall we? I will change into my nightgown, and then you can arrange me into whatever pose you want."

"The hair!" he managed to ground out as she walked away. "I want you to let down your hair."

She smiled sweetly. "Of course." Next time she planned to let him undress her.

He had removed his cap, gown and, surprisingly, his jacket when she reappeared; and he stood nervously with his sketchpad and pencil in his hand by the dressing table. His expression brightened when he saw her.

"I left my hair for you to do, since you liked all the pin pulling out this morning," she explained.

There was a grateful answer of, "Thank you." He quickly put his sketching tools down and reached out to her head.

Just as he had earlier, John took his time to remove each hairpin carefully; but this time she did not assist him. Instead she watched his face full of concentration as he did so; his firm-set mouth and his fluttering long eyelashes that looked so dark against his pale skin. What fascinated her the most, now that she was able to examine him up-close, was the faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks. His eyes flicked down to hers for a second, and a shy smile broke out on his face. He had such a wonderful smile; and she readily answered it.

In no time at all he was fanning her hair out on her shoulders to his own personal preference. If he kissed her she was doomed, so she instantly asked, "Shall I get on the beds yet?"

"Beds? Oh yes, the beds." He whimsically smiled. "If you would…?" He added in a vague wave towards the bed.

"Just tell me if I'm getting this wrong," she suggested as she picked up a pillow, plumped it and rested it near the middle of the two joined single beds. She then laid crossways, folded her hands behind her head, and gently crossed her legs. "How much skin did you want me to show?" she asked, pointing at them. Taking hold of the hem, she started to draw it up her leg. "This much…this much… or this much?"

He waited until it was high up her thigh before nodding his agreement.

"And what about this?" she then asked, placing her finger on the placket of her nightdress. "Do you want the buttons as they are, undone a little, or completely undone?" The fact that he nodded at every question was extremely unhelpful. "Well?"

"All of it undone," he suddenly managed to spit out.

The poor idiot! At least she wasn't revealing anything unwanted; she'd shown off more on the beach, for goodness sake. Still, it wouldn't hurt to tease him for a bit and wring out every ounce of enjoyment, so she slowly undid each button and revealed more of her chest. She gained an extremely satisfying physical reaction from him that she was able to lay back and relish as he hastily picked up his sketching materials and tried to pretend it hadn't happened.

The clock in the living room ticked on, her lack of sleep from having visited the TARDIS took its toll on her, and she soon found she was drifting off to sleep as he worked on, mentally caressing her exposed limbs with the tip of his pencil.

He wanted to try a slightly different position, but he daren't waken her as she slumbered on. So he risked adjusting the hem of her nightdress, and moved her arm so that it wouldn't go dead in her sleep. Two hours later he had some delightful sketches that showed the length of her legs, her curves that swept from her hips and the swell of her bosom perfectly. The next step would be to do a watercolour or use some pastels.

There was a murmur from the bed, so he leaned in and tenderly moved a wisp of hair from her face. "Are you awake yet, Donna?" he crooned.

"No," she mumbled. "Come back to bed, I want five more minutes."

Donna was shocked awake when she felt his warm body snuggle up behind hers, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. He had changed into his pyjamas, and this was a dangerous situation! It grew even more dangerous when he started to press tender kisses onto her skin, starting from her exposed shoulder and moving towards her throat. Her panic intensified when one of his hands landed on her thigh and began to rub caressing circles as it followed its own path upwards.

He mustn't do this! "Why are you here?"

He quickly answered, "You told me to come to bed."

"And what about the shoulder and hand thing?" she asked.

"I've wanted to do this all day, but especially in the last hour or so," he freely admitted without stopping his quest. "Your skin is so soft."

"John, you need to stop doing that right now," she groaned out.

His hand stilled on her upper thigh. "Why?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning:** contains sexual references, but nothing too graphic. For anyone wanting to avoid anything remotely smut-like, please avoid the last three paragraphs in the first section and the last line of the second section.  
**A/N: **sorry for the delay, but I was having problems with the bedroom scene [let's just say that my muse wanted to let it veer off into NC-17 and whip-related things that I don't want to write about]; and other, RL things.

* * *

**Part Eleven**

.

Donna could hear the hurt in John's voice, and immediately felt guilty. She had positively encouraged this; she fancied him and he fancied her, they had a marriage arrangement and she was protected, guessing by what the TARDIS had provided earlier that afternoon. Was it really so wrong to want this? Would she be able to argue the case for permitting such… intimacy, for want of a better word, when the Doctor returned to normal?

Oh bugger! This wasn't looking very good in the future. Was looking bloody marvellous in the present with the way his fingertips were tantalising her senses; fleetingly touching the tender skin on her inner thigh as he waited to hear her answer to explain why he should stop.

"Because it feels as though you are trying to mount me," she excused herself; although that _was_ true to a certain extent, judging by the way he was pressing himself onto her from behind.

"Am I doing this wrong?" he anxiously wondered, and placed a consoling kiss onto her shoulder. "I am sorry. I was only doing what I have seen the beasts in the field do."

Poor bloke! His inexperience was only too obvious, and her sympathies went out to him; along with a couple of other things. He may be built like a horse but he didn't have to behave like one! "Do I look like a cow to you? And really… don't answer that one," Donna floundered, and then turned in his embrace to face him. "Making love is best face to face, like this," she told him, wanting to make things easier between them.

"Well, you have more experience in these marriage matters then me," he spluttered apologetically.

Oh dear! Her heart went out to him and she cradled his face lovingly. "John, that isn't necessarily true. Think. How long was I married before he died?" she softly asked.

"Erm… No more than two days," he answered thoughtfully. "Oh! I see. You would have been…" He then blushed again.

"Not very experienced as a married woman," she finished for him. "In fact it was no time at all; and then I met you, spending every day with you thereafter. You saved me that day, and have been saving me ever since."

"Anyone would have done so," he modestly told her.

"No they wouldn't," she insisted, "not in the way you did. He betrayed my love but you never have."

Love? She had mentioned love. Could this mean what he had hoped for all this time? He cautiously whispered his next heartfelt questions. "You love me? Do you love me, Donna?"

Talk about no-brainer! "John, how could I not love y-…?" she started to answer him; but he interrupted any possible denial by crushing his mouth down onto hers, halting the words with his tongue.

She groaned into his mouth, eagerly returning his kiss at the same time; wanting more and more. The kissing deepened as tongues sucked and glided over each other, and hands sought out skin to smooth and caress.

"John," she panted out after some minutes of unencumbered bliss. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not, my beloved?" he wondered as he returned to deeply kissing her mouth.

She tried shoving him off, unsuccessfully. "Why? Because this isn't allowed when we leave here."

"We shall return to the university when we leave here," he stated, and then frowned. "I do not understand. Are you worried you will lose your position as my assistant?"

She vaguely answered, "You could say that; among other things."

"I know the Suffrage Movement does not approve of men controlling fertility, so I thought…" He then blushed, a deep red.

"You thought what?" she encouraged him to continue.

"I thought I should not purchase a French letter," he mumbled, deeply embarrassed by the whole subject.

The Suffragettes really thought that about men taking control?! No wonder Marie Stopes' clinic would be successful later on. Although Donna could use the lack of a condom as her bargaining chip if she played this right and used her hand.

With practised ease, she placed her hand on him and began to stroke. To her surprise he immediately wrenched her hand away!

"No, Donna! You will not distract me like you did before," he insisted.

She'd done this to him before?! When? Certainly not in her living memory. "I don't know what you mean," she admitted.

John glared back at her, keeping his hand tightly over the top of her fingers. "What's the phrase you are keen to use? Oh yes, you 'fobbed me off' on our wedding night by touching me in such a way," he bitterly recalled. "In fact I remember the whole lecture about men asserting their conjugal rights to control women; very well."

"Do you?" Had she really said all that? Well, according to the TARDIS, that is. Donna hoped it had been an eloquent lecture planted in his memory, because she'd be annoyed if it wasn't.

He brought his face close to intimidate her and emphasise his point; and for some reason she wanted to bite the tip of his nose. Weird thought, that! As if she'd be frightened of him, daft Martian.

"Indeed I do," John continued. "I felt wounded you should accuse me so when my intention was anything but to… to..."

He was stammering again, which meant this was throwing him into an emotional hole. "What were you trying to do, John?" she softly encouraged him to express his need properly.

Oh dear! His whole demeanour changed from strong to broken, causing Donna to want to hug him tight and whisper that everything would be alright.

Finally he managed to spit out his words. "I wanted to show you that I love you, Donna. When you turned up that first day in your battered wedding dress, needing my help, I… I cannot begin to tell you how I felt towards you. It was all so inappropriate, especially my feelings when your husband died."

"He was a prat," Donna instantly commented in hurt tones. "I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead but…"

John released her hand and tenderly caressed her cheek. "You loved him," he half stated and half questioned.

She averted her gaze and nodded. "Yes, I did; idiot that I am."

Using a fingertip, he forced her to look at him by lifting her chin. "You are not an idiot; instead you are brilliant."

There was that word again, the one he always used to bolster her confidence; and it wasn't true. "No I'm not. I've done a rubbish job being here with you."

"Why do you say such a thing?" he demanded to know.

His steady gaze was her undoing. "I still don't know if this is the right thing to do, and I'm certain you will hate me when we leave here."

"Oh Donna." John brought his lips close again. "How can expressing our newly found love ever be wrong?" he wondered as he bent low to kiss her. "I love you, Donna," he breathily declared, "please tell me you feel the same."

"I love you, John," she readily replied and accepted his kiss. "And I think I always will."

Their need for deep, open mouthed kisses was quickly joined by the need for skin to skin contact; rendering Donna powerless to resist John's exploration further up from her thigh. Soon his pyjama jacket was open and pushed off his shoulders, the button at his waist undone; her nightdress was lifted, and tossed to the side. The next step was his hands and mouth worshipping her body as she adored his, until she mewled in ecstasy.

For a beginner, as a human and a lover, he was bloody good; she had to give him his due. When he finally joined them it was beyond her wildest dreams because so much love poured from him into her soul that she never wanted them to be parted; and she easily joined John in his declarations of love.

Morning light came far too quickly; but at least he had no nightmares at all that night.

* * *

When Jenny entered their rooms early in the morning to start up the coal fires, she knew something was different that morning. Often she had to pretend she had not seen madam creep back into her own bed, and would hover out of the way until Mrs Smith fell asleep; but she was surprised to see the beds pushed together. She was even more shocked to see them curled around each other whilst their clothing lay scattered on the floor. An amused blush appeared on her cheeks as she averted her gaze and got on with her task of stoking the bedroom fire. If the weather had been warmer outside she would have left them be; but there was a fair nip in the air that took your breath away.

There was a rumour circulating in the servant quarters that Dr Smith had broken Mr Baillie's nose when he had caught him paying undue attention to Mrs Smith. Jenny wasn't sure that he could be that violent, but the schoolmaster was certainly in love with his wife, and she him. From what Edie had said when she had cleaned Nurse Redfern's rooms, there had been plenty of blood spilt by Mr Baillie, and his story was that he had accidentally walked into a door whilst carrying his watercolour materials. Nobody believed that one! The man was certainly good at hiding behind doors and leaping out at female staff. They'd all been waiting ages for someone to give Mr Baillie his comeuppance, and Jenny had personally seen him earmark Mrs Smith for attention at the reception on the day she arrived at the school.

Moving as quickly as she could, the fire was lit and she respectfully left the room, taking care when she shut the door.

A few minutes later the people in the bed stirred, and then grabbed for each other when cold air touched them.

"Good morning," John happily greeted Donna. "We appear to be naked in a compromising position, Mrs Smith-Noble."

"Indeed we do, Dr Smith," she replied as she welcomed his kiss. "What should we do about it?"

"How about we take advantage of the situation?" he cheekily proposed.

Okay, she'd go along with his suggestion for now. "In what way?"

"This way," he demonstrated, by capturing her lips into a searing kiss and rolling her body beneath his own.

* * *

As they finished their breakfast, Donna thought to comment, "Is it me, or did you not have a nightmare last night?"

John's face split into a broad happy grin. "Indeed I did not, my love. I have you to thank for that, along with other things," he saucily noted, adding in an appropriate eyebrow waggle. "I shall have nothing to write in my dream diary for once."

"Do you still write in that?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could.

"Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I have been very remiss in not showing you. Would you care to look?" he offered and stood to fetch the journal. "I feel that I need to warn you that my dreams feature a man very different from myself," he added as he handed it into her welcoming hands. "A man called the Doctor, who travels among the stars as much as Mr Wells' heroes."

"I'm sure I shall find it very entertaining," she tried to console him, knowing full well that she already had found it enlightening. As he watched over her, she flicked through the pages. After the first few pages, that she had already seen, she came across his newer entries and gasped in shock. "You've got me!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself.

John smiled whimsically at her. "Of course. Did you think I would not dream of you?"

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. 'Of course' being the operative phrase. "When you can dream of younger, prettier women, I certainly can," she blustered as she internally preened. Who'd have thought the Doctor would have dreamt of her? Poor John Smith had no choice, being lumbered with her as his wife as he was, but the Doctor would always have a choice; and he'd dreamt some lovely thoughts about her, judging by what she read.

John bent down to turn the page for her to look elsewhere. "Then I think you may enjoy these images," he said with repressed excitement. "I caught an especially beautiful aspect of you," he boasted.

"Are you sure it's me?" she wondered as she readied herself to look; but her teasing laugh stopped in its tracks. The images before her were so obviously of her, hugging him in his spacesuit, meeting William Shakespeare, and telling a cat nun off; but Donna had difficulty believing the evidence. "John, these are… These are too good to be me. You must have been thinking of someone else."

"No, my darling Donna; these are you," he whispered. "I do not understand why I chose these settings, but as fantastical as they are, I could easily envisage you there."

"You are the most wonderful husband there ever was," she breathily declared, and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him fervently.

He giggled with delight, returning the hug. "I am hoping to please you some more this evening, my precious wife."

They shared tender kisses before he left for his classroom.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** the song is Annie's Song by John Denver.

* * *

**Part Twelve**

.

It got to eleven o'clock and Donna started to feel a bit stir crazy inside their rooms. She stood and gazed anxiously out of the window, wondering if she could risk walking in the garden now that John had seen Mr Baillie off the previous day. The sun coming out in that moment made her mind up for her, and she rushed to grab her coat. She'd be blowed if she'd allow that excuse of a man stop her from enjoying some welcome fresh air!

With renewed vigour, she practically skipped down the stairs and out into the school grounds. The gentle breeze graced her face as she stepped outside, and the smell of freshly cut grass wafted up to greet her. Oh how she loved such moments.

Then a naughty thought crossed her mind, and she wondered if she should go and take a peek at John through his classroom window. Of course she had absolutely no reason to seek him out, beyond just wanting suddenly to see him. Surely just a quick look would be okay? Deciding to chance it, she had edged towards a large shrub that stood near the end window of his room when she became aware of someone watching her.

Her blood ran cold as she stood stock still and slowly turned to see who could possibly be doing so. Expecting it to be Mr Baillie in need of a slap, she was totally surprised to see the Headmaster standing there.

"Good morning, Headmaster," she cordially greeted him.

Mr Rocastle nodded back. "Good morning, Mrs Smith-Noble," he replied without smiling. "May I have a word with you, please?"

"With me? Oh! I am so sorry if it isn't allowed to walk near the classrooms while a lesson is taking place," she blustered. "I was erm…" She quickly looked around for an excuse and then lied, "I was following a robin."

He quirked a disbelieving eyebrow but did not call her on the obvious lie beyond saying, "I am sure your husband will confirm it's progress. Would you accompany me to my study, please?"

She couldn't do anything more than agree with him, and meekly followed the Headmaster into his study whilst feeling as though she had committed a grave offence. Once there, he waved towards a chair in invitation and sat himself down next to her. That shook her; was he about to tell her someone had died? Not that she had any living relatives to report, or even a pet, come to think of it. Until panic gripped her, squeezing her tightly.

"Has something happened to Dr Smith?" she anxiously asked, expecting the worse.

Mr Rocastle scared her then by smiling consolingly and patting her hand. "No, Mrs Smith-Noble. I assure you no harm has come to your husband. Instead I wanted to talk to you about my brother-in-law."

Who?! Why would she care about his brother-in-law, if she knew who the hell he was? "I'm afraid I do not understand, Headmaster," she told him as calmly as she could. Perhaps he was trying to set her up with a new job? Or...? No, she had no idea other than that.

"Presumably you are aware that Mr Baillie is my brother-in-law, Mrs Smith-Noble," the Headmaster began to explain. "Mrs Rocastle was most adamant that I found him some employment when I first became Headmaster of Farringham School and I have tried to retain that promise."

"Of course," Donna found herself agreeing in sympathy. But a part of her wanted to shout at him for keeping Mr Baillie on the premises, now that she knew his true identity. Was Baillie the family idiot who was too stupid for the army or the clergy? It was a possible.

"I understand from what Alfred…I mean, Mr Baillie has said, he has been unduly attentive towards you, Mrs Smith-Noble, and I cannot apologise enough for that. We had thought keeping him within a predominantly male environment would have halted his predilections. Unfortunately this does not seem to be the case, and I cannot excuse his actions anymore," he told her sternly.

"What have you done to him?" she asked, wondering if Mr Baillie had been caned, chained to the gym climbing frame or dragged behind the local hunt's horses. Alright, they definitely wouldn't have done the last one, but she could enjoy imagining it for a few seconds, couldn't she? Only a few, mind you.

"He has been dismissed from this establishment," the Headmaster stated. "Mr Baillie has returned to the care of his mother on the family estate for now and an arranged marriage later this year."

A lovely image of him howling in the west wing comforted her for some seconds before compassion found her; especially for the unwitting bride-to-be. "Will he be alright?"

"At this precise moment I neither know nor care, Mrs Smith-Noble. He has brought disgrace upon us all," he admitted. There was a hesitantly knock on the door and he exclaimed, "Ah! Tea!"

She couldn't agree with him more when a tray of tea things was brought in for them both to enjoy. After that they pleasantly chatted about the progress she had made with John's notes, the significance it would have on future research projects, and the connections it would forge between the school and the university. All of it totally made up by Donna, but she was sure a lot of it could have been true from what she remembered from school history lessons. Who knew she could have such a nice time with a stuffed shirt like the Headmaster? It was turning into a wonderful day.

* * *

"Where did you get to?" John petulantly asked her when he found her later on and they walked in the gardens together before dinner. "I tried to meet with you lunchtime, and you were not in our rooms."

"I was taking tea with the Headmaster," she eagerly informed him.

He eyed her suspiciously. "What a strange thing to joke about," he commented.

"No, really! I _did_ have tea with the Headmaster," she assured him. "He came and found me to explain about Mr Baillie being packed off out of the school."

"He did?! So he did not accuse me of assault?" he sought to confirm as he gripped her hand resting on his arm.

She smiled with delight. "Not at all. In fact he apologised for Mr Baillie's behaviour." She stopped walking at this point and tilted her head up in invitation. "Everybody agrees that you are my hero."

"Am I?" he coquettishly wondered.

"Stop being such a tart," she admonished him. "I'll forgive you if you kiss me."

"Here?" he queried, casting his gaze around the deserted garden.

"Kissing out here with your wife; what a terribly role model you'd be," she teased. "Unless you don't really love me…?"

He edged nearer. "I think we can take that as read," he countered, wrapping his arms around her waist. "But public displays are frowned upon, especially in these circumstances."

"You mean with all the millions of invisible students around us? Yes, I can see how that is off-putting," she agreed, bring her lips to within a hair's breadth of his. "Whatever will we do? I wonder if there is anywhere we can go that is more private."

She was pleased to see him gulp. "We could… perhaps… make our way back to erm…"

Holding in her amusement at his predicament, she asked, "Will there be lots of erming?"

John frowned. What the heck did she mean? Then he smiled broadly when he realised she was teasing him again. "I can but try," he vowed, and led her back towards their rooms.

They pulled off their hats, scarves and gloves as they ascended the staircase, giggling when they accidentally bumped into each other. "Why did you come looking for me lunchtime?" Donna suddenly thought to ask when they approached their rooms.

John shyly smirked back. "I was hoping to meet up and…"

"What?" she whispered next to his ear. "Are you actually telling me you felt frisky?"

"I am not a horse, Donna!" he protested.

Want to bet on that, she wondered. Plastering on a mischievous grin, she leaned in again to ask, "Would you like to own up to being a little bit of an animal?"

He gasped in shocked indignation as he fumbled in his pocket for the key to open their door. "What are you implying?"

Good grief, he was so easy to tease. "I am implying," she murmured, adding in a nibble on his earlobe that sent his senses reeling for a second, "that you are secretly wild."

"Wild?" he pondered as the door swung open and she stepped in before him.

"Just don't say you are livid. Oh look; a guitar!" she exclaimed with delight when she spotted it sitting in the corner of the room. "I didn't know you had one of them."

"You did not know?" he queried in disbelief. "Donna," he groaned, clearly exasperated.

Oh dear! Was she supposed to know he was musical? Or had she missed another important life event? "Not that particular one," she lied, hoping she had covered her tracks.

Relief appeared on his face. "I acquired it this very morning, in the post. I hope you do not mind that I purchased it but I found myself missing my old faithful terribly."

Now that she bothered to look it did look rather new and shiny. "Why would I mind? We all need our hobbies."

A broad beaming smile lit up his face and he stepped close to take hold of her hands. "I should expect you to always astound me with your generosity." He then leaned forward and brushed a kiss onto her cheek.

"Well? Aren't you going to try it out?" she wondered. "I'd love to hear you play." Assuming of course, that he actually_could_ play and wouldn't make a pig's ear of it.

"For you, anything," he declared; and released her to grab up the acoustic guitar.

Several minutes crawled by whilst he adjusted the strings, twanging and then tweaking the pegs until it sounded pitch perfect to his sensitive ears. Donna merely heard the same sounds over and over again; but she smiled as sweetly as she could when he looked at her for encouragement.

When it was clear he was about to begin she garnered every cheerful thought she could muster in order to stay positive in case what was about to happen was worse than the Queen suddenly turning up on the doorstep only to find you've run out of tea.

As it was, she needn't have worried, because the most beautiful sound came out of the guitar; one that she recognised immediately, and she clasped her hands over her mouth in glee. He had remembered! Part of him had remembered that this was her favourite song from her childhood when she had confessed it to him late one 'night' in the TARDIS when they had swopped stories. Her dad had often sung it to entertain her.

Then to top it all, he began to sing. "You fill up my senses like a night in a forest. Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain," he crooned the obvious words of Annie's Song to her. But she was deeply affected when he sung, "Come let me love you, let me give my life to you, let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you. Come let me love you, come love me again."

It was inevitable after that; she couldn't avoid it, and she unashamedly cried.

"Donna?!" He immediately put the guitar down and flew to her side, horrified that he had upset her. "What is it? Why are you crying?"

Her snivelling didn't stop, but she was able to give him a watery smile whilst slightly shaking her head. "You have no idea what this means to me; you wonderful, bloody fantastic man!"

There was no way she could stop herself, she had to kiss him. So she did; clasping his head to gaze tenderly into his soulful eyes before gently bringing their lips together and tasting him.

There was a momentary token protest from him before he reciprocated, moving his mouth with hers, pressing and enjoying every second.

Her hands lifted from where they rested on his warm chest to his tie. "Let's get rid of this," she suggested and immediately followed through.

Keen to help, John undid the button at his throat and dispatched the collar, his jacket and then the rest of his shirt. "What about you?" he asked.

"Oh I can do this," Donna purred seductively at him as she undid the buttons on her dress. "But I will need help with my undergarments."

Fighting to bring his breathing under controlled, he flung off his trousers and then sat waiting for his chance to learn the mechanics of her corset. With muted concentration, he set about vanquishing the intricacies of the lacing, telling himself he could do this, it was merely another challenge that filled life his with Donna.

At that point, as the corset slipped off and into his hands, he looked up at her standing in front of him. "I still cannot believe I have been blessed with you," he babbled. "This is like one of my fanciful dreams, having you stand here before me, gazing at me with love in your eyes." He then reverently fingered the hem of her chemise. "Tell me this is true, please. I could not bear it if this was another vivid dream that steals you away in the night."

Donna was caught out by the tone of his words for a moment, and readily eased forward to first bend down and then sit on his lap so that she could stare right into his eyes. "Shall we test how good your imagination is then if this is all made up?"

His eyes went wide. "What do you propose?"

"Let's see if I can surprise you," she suggested and resumed their earlier kiss while pushing him backwards onto the bed. "And when were you going to tell me you had requested this double bed?"

"What?!" His head shot sideways to find that, yes; they were now lying on a double bed instead of the two single ones that had been there that very morning. "I didn't… I do not understand."

"It must have been our house elf," Donna reasoned as she took possession of his mouth; that wonderful, talented mouth with the full bottom pouty lip and delicious tongue that glided so enticingly over hers.

Who cared about the logistics of it all when you have the person you desire kissing you? She certainly didn't in that second, that minute or even that hour. Funny that…


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I was asked for more "erming" by **dm12**, so here it is.

* * *

**Part Thirteen**

.

They lay together lazily snuggled in bed, sharing the odd kiss to reaffirm their connection and mutual joy. John could not resist idly trailing a finger down Donna's bare arm, entwining their hands as a thought struck him.

"I think we should go out to somewhere other than this school," he offered. "Would you care to attend a dance with me?"

"What? Like a date?" she queried as she lifted her head to see if he was joking.

"I hardly think we need to court one another in light of our marriage; but yes, I suppose it would be classed as a date," he agreed. "One where we celebrate our nuptials."

"A dance, where you'd actually want to be seen with me and stuff?" she sought to confirm, and wanted to squeal with delight at her question.

"Donna, I think our wedding ceremony was a clear indication I was willing to be seen with you," he commented with some amusement. "I would love to dance with you in public. I would love even more to dance with you in private, but I want to show you off."

She grinned broadly. "Then, Dr Smith, I would love to accompany you."

He positively beamed back. "Thank you, Mrs Smith-Noble. I look forward to accompanying you."

His next actions made her think that he wanted to do more than accompany her as his kisses gradually deepened to coax a response and his hands went wandering over her skin, dancing their own dance. Soon the air was filled with soft sighs and tiny grunts that slowly built to their own crescendo.

* * *

Joan put the last hair clip in place and stepped from her handiwork to smile with delight at Donna's reflection in the dressing table mirror in front of them both. "Oh Donna, I think your husband will be most pleased with your appearance."

"He'd better," Donna remarked as she moved her head from side to side in order to assess their reflected efforts. "Otherwise I shall go out to find myself a man who does."

"Donna!" Joan gasped out in shock. "To hear you speak, anyone would think you do not care for Dr Smith; but fortunately I know better."

"Oh yeah," Donna tried to nonchalantly reply. "He's just a man like any other." She then caught Joan's wry expression in the mirror, and amended it to, "Except he is much more than any man I have ever known. Am I daft to love him so much, Joan?"

Joan shook her head. "Of course not. If you had not snatched him up I would have been tempted myself."

"The Doctor and the nurse; yes, that would have been apt," Donna muttered to herself. "Who can we find for you, Joan? I feel mean that I'm having all the fun," she said more loudly.

"Do not fret so," Joan said, blushing at the thought. She had no doubts that Donna was having lots of fun with her husband, Dr Smith.

Donna stood up and took her dear friend's hand. "I mean it, Joan. You deserve some happiness and I will find someone for you if it's the last thing I do," she promised. The Headmaster had told her that day they had had tea together that John would be replaced by an unmarried scholar called Dr Newman, and apparently he would be attending one of the school social events beforehand. Now how could she wangle this one…?

There was a sudden noise from outside the closed bedroom door, causing Joan to jerk in fright. She then turned a bright pink when John's voice wafted in to them, calling, "Donna? Where are you?"

"It's your husband!" Joan hissed anxiously.

Well d'uh! Who else would it be? Sometimes Joan could be a little dense, Donna thought. "Yeah, I know," she mumbled back, and shouted out a reply to John. "I'm hiding in the bedroom!"

"Does he think we are playing a parlour game?" Joan wondered.

Donna tried not to roll her eyes in exasperation, she really did. "No Joan; it's sarcasm… because there are only two rooms I could be in." Oh dear! Joan very clearly didn't get it. "I'm just teasing him," she then added, to Joan's relief. "He's totally used to it by now."

The door was wrenched open at that point, and John stood in the doorway. "I hope you have not hidden in here with a secret lover," he jested; and Joan's cheeks went from pink to red. "Oh, hello Nurse Redfern," he greeted her with equal embarrassment. "I had not expected Donna to have genuine company… so… so… I erm apologise…"

Donna then decided to take pity on him, and walked over to rest her hands on his chest, rubbing small comforting circles on him. Distraction was always the best tactic. "Why would I hide a secret lover when I could be with you?" she breathily asked. "I'm not as daft as you look."

He smirked down at her, pleased until the last part hit him. "I look daft?!" he queried in petulant tones.

She nonchalantly shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Only in certain things, so let's take them off.

Oh yes! He liked the idea of removing clothing; until he remembered that Joan was still standing there watching them with interest. "We… we… should save…"

The poor bloke! He'd go on all night like this if she let him, so she placed a fingertip on his lips to stop his bumbling. "Okay, we'll do that later. Now I have to get myself out of this dressing gown and into my finest dress because apparently some gorgeous, handsome man is taking me to a dance; so you'd better scarper before he finds you here. He's got a bit of a temper when he finds other men muscling in."

"Indeed, a harsh temper," John agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist to bring her body flush to his chest. "You are mine, Donna Smith-Noble, and everyone shall know it."

The kiss on the end of that was certainly welcome, and she readily accepted the touch of his lips for a few seconds before halting to allowing Joan to stop being embarrassed by their show of affection. "If you find my husband, send him in," she lightly ordered, and John burst into laughter.

"Now you know why my wife needs careful management, Nurse Redfern," John remarked to Joan, who smiled nervously and stood anxiously awaiting her chance to escape from the room. "There is no other such as she."

Donna frowned at him. "Are you saying that I'm hard work, buster?"

"Oh no, my love," he appeased her, but unable to resist teasing her in kind. "But had you been a fish and I a fisherman, I would have felt compelled to throw you back."

"Why you…!" Donna roared in indignation, and swatted his arm hard. "Just you wait until I've got you on your own! A fish, I tell you, Joan; he has the audacity to compare me to a fish!"

All John did was giggle at his winning attempt to seek revenge.

"Yes, well I'm sure Dr Smith did not mean it in that way," Joan blustered as she finally managed to make it to the door. "I will leave you both, and wish you an enjoyable evening."

"Thank you! And I'll be down to tell you all about it in the morning," Donna quickly promised as Joan practically ran from the rooms. Donna then turned her attention back onto John. "As for you…" She bore down on him as some sort of plan desperately tried to gain a foothold in her mind.

To her surprise, John suddenly threw himself down onto the rug in front of her and knelt as he begged, "Mistress Donna, my eyes have been opened to your beauty. Thou doest quench a neglected man's thirst for love."

She stared at him, disbelieving what she had just heard. "You what?! Get up, you tart! What do you think you are playing at?"

John gave a little sniff as he pulled himself up to stand. "I have been helping out with the school play," he said, as though it answered all.

"Oh yeah? Who did you play? Juliet?" she mused.

He made a mute laugh sound at her in return. "No, I prompted the actors when they forgot their lines, which considering the late hour of their rehearsals, was rather too often."

Oh goodie; bad acting and forgotten lines. She could hardly wait to sleep through every performance later in the term. "I'm sure they can't be worse than a few actresses I've seen in stuff lately," she commented, and then wanted to bite her tongue. He was going to ask the inevitable question, wasn't he?

"When did you attend the theatre, my love?" he wondered.

Yep, there it was. Bugger! This desperately needed a lie. "You mean you didn't see the local repertory company when we were in Norfolk?" she fibbed.

His expression grew dark. "Is that where you went with Shannon?"

Who? Who the hell is Shannon? It could be a man, a woman, a dog or their budgie for all she knew. This needed a different type of diversion. "Are you telling me you were jealous?" she asked as coquettishly as she could, running a hand seductively over his Adam's apple. "Because I only ever thought of you."

"Of me?" he wondered.

"Who else would I bother thinking about? No one can compare to you." Oh gawd! She'd gone and done it now with the gush, especially spouting stuff that was more than sort of true.

"You felt this way even as far ago as then?" he cautiously asked.

How the hell should she know? Was he referring to months, years or decades? And she couldn't make it up because he'd spot the lie. He was clever like that. "Ever since we first met I knew you were special to me," she whispered, edging closer. "I don't think you know how much you dazzled me."

A slight frown appeared on his forehead. "There was a lot of shouting at me, from what I recall. I thought you were angry and unimpressed."

"Well, I was all that too," she agreed. "But ultimately, you showed me something I had never seen." Seeing the beginning of the Earth definitely counted as 'never seen', she was sure of it.

A broad grin graced his face, and John leaned in to shyly admit, "I wanted to make love to you, may God forgive me. And I want to make love to you now, my beautiful wife."

Donna glanced at the carriage clock that sat on the mantelpiece; they had time so why not? "Just don't mess up the hair," she cautioned him and grabbed his head to bring their lips together.

* * *

"How do I look?" She emerged from the bedroom and gazed at John expectantly. "Get it or forget it?"

Oh wow! His lips moved silently for some moments as he took in the vision in red in front of him. "Donna, you look stunning!" he gasped out. "Definitely 'get it'. Shall we?" He helped her put on her coat, offered his arm for her to take, and they left their rooms.

Latimer was hovering at the bottom of the stairs, obviously waiting for someone. "Mrs Smith!" he cried out when he spotted her start to descend the stairs. "I need to return this to you."

Into her hand he coyly placed John's fob watch. A flurry of images whirled around her as she took it; and she gasped with surprise before collecting her wits. "Thank you, Latimer. I'll deal with this," she told him with meaning; and he nodded back, then scampered off.

John watched all this in confusion. "What did Latimer have to return to you, my love?" he asked her once they were alone again.

This was it, the first of his big moments. "I hope you don't mind, but I lent him your old watch to draw for an art project," she began her explanation; although the truth was that she hadn't given Latimer permission to take the watch at all, instead he had taken it out of curiosity so no harm was done. "Here you go…" and she placed the watch on his palm.

"Donna," he cried out as he too saw numerous images. But most of his were very different from the ones she had just seen with Latimer. The ones that were similar to his showed him continue to be happily married to Donna, with four fine children, and later ten grandchildren gained during a long life where only death parted them. So much happiness beckoned through the years. And then the images were gone when she released his hand and he was left holding an ancient fob watch that continued to whisper instructions at him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and kissed him tenderly. This might be her last chance after all.

"With you I am always alright," John tried to brightly say; and dismissed the fear in himself in an effort to enjoy their evening. "Let's go."

If he could ignore it all for the time being then so could she, Donna determined; and they sauntered off together to have fun at the local dance.

What had started off so well, so promising, quickly deteriorated once they had been in the village hall a short while.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warning: **here comes the angsty bit of this story. Hopefully you won't need tissues...

**A/N:** sorry for the lateness but I've been sleeping when I haven't been scoffing my youngest son's birthday food from Friday; or our god-daughter's , I've been typing away so that this could be posted asap. Oh and, sorry again for the angst.

* * *

**Part Fourteen**

.

Donna sat shocked and stunned on the bottom step of the stairs, tightly wrapped in her coat, as the events of the evening washed over her; unwilling to go back outside the school and unable to face entering their rooms. She didn't belong here anymore, and never would. The Family of Blood, or the Aubertide as she now knew they were called, had shown up having possessed four bodies. One of them had been Jenny's friend Edie, to Donna's horror; and only now was she able to grieve for the loss of her sort-of-friend's life. The Doctor had said she had died as soon as they had taken her body; along with Baines, Mr Clark and the Cartwright's daughter Lucy. The whole thing was horrible!

She began to gently rock herself in a desperate bid for comfort as she thought back to their return to the school such a comparatively short time ago, with those weird scarecrow soldiers of the Family following them like badly trained tea bags as they hunted for the Doctor.

Talking of him, what had he been thinking? She had screamed at John to leave the boys out of it, that it wasn't their fight, but he had ignored her and rang the school bell to raise the alarm. Soon after the shooting had begun in earnest; such futility and she couldn't bear to watch it. Instead she had rushed to help Joan gather medical supplies, and ran straight into Latimer.

Latimer. He must have taken the watch when she was distracted by suddenly gaining a romantic life with John. What on earth had Latimer done when he had handed it back to her? She must have picked up and moved that watch on the mantelpiece numerous times; but when Latimer had placed it into her hands she had seen so many fanciful images. Images that showed her heavy with child; John's child. And they hadn't stopped at one but had four healthy children who smiled with his cheeky grin and soft brown eyes. The sight of them had instantly melted her heart, and she longed to hold them close.

She knew what she saw wasn't true because the images showed her and John growing old together, until their final peaceful parting; breaking her heart. But worse than that, she had seen some of the alternative, the path John had to tread, facing the Aubertide. Tears welled up, and she hastily wiped them away before returning to the present where she had stared into Latimer's eyes.

"You took Dr Smith's watch without permission," she softly accused him. "Why did you take it?"

Latimer hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Mrs Smith, but it almost called to me when I collected a book from Dr Smith. He said it was broken and meant nothing, so I thought he would not mind if I would take it to my room in order to examine it more closely and returned it later."

It was as she had suspected, and relief filled her. "It doesn't matter anymore. Did you see those images of me?" she asked him.

"Yes, Mrs Smith. It was very different to last time," he replied.

You what?! "What do you mean 'last time'? What did you see then?"

"I saw…" Latimer hesitated, thinking she would consider him mad. "You encountering a witch, a creature made from the sun, and a cat steering a vessel, believe it or not."

Oh my gawd! He knew everything! Donna hastily tried to think of a covering story to let her off the hook and ease his mind. "Moving pictures; I was in a moving picture filled with these…" No, it was no good; she didn't believe it either. "I don't know, Latimer. Perhaps you can use it to write a book one day."

"Then what about the bomb dropping from the air?" he asked, fear evident in his eyes.

Had he predicted something from the Great War, she wondered? She immediately patted his shoulder. "Take it as the warning it is, and make sure you bloody run," she whispered.

* * *

Minutes later she had gone up to their rooms to fetch spare sheets to rip into makeshift bandages; John had found her soon after, fear etched into his features. "Donna, run to the barn or hide yourself in the attic," he suggested and all but demanded.

As if she'd do that! Everybody knew that in every horror film they climbed up the building and they always died as a consequence. Plus she had a very different duty to perform.

"John, you have to take charge. Open your fob watch and become the Doctor again!" Donna had shouted at him as he tried to hold her back from returning to Joan's aid.

"Who?!" John stood dumbfounded. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Give me strength! He wasn't normally this dense. "John, sweetheart; I'm trying to tell you in a completely unsubtle way that the Doctor isn't just a character you wrote down. He's you."

"What do you mean? I'm this Doctor space fellow in my dreams?" he queried as he tried to make sense of it all, and quickly went into denial. "No, I'm just Dr John Smith; a boring academic and art student from Gallifrey, somewhere in Ireland. I was born in 1880 to Sydney and Verity Smith, grew up in Nottingham; then married to the gorgeous Donna Noble who joined me in Norfolk many years ago." He stopped talking as several emotions played over his face. "It took me such a long time to find the courage to ask you to become more to me; to join me in life as well as in my research, as my wife. Don't take this away from me, please don't!"

She tearfully shook her head. The poor fool knew he was deluding himself but he needed a stronger push. "But it's not real. None of this was. I'm not your wife; never have been and given the choice you would never have chosen me. This marriage existed to protect me in a sexist world."

"That is the Suffrage Movement making you say that. Please Donna," he implored her, "we have spent many years together as close friends and now as man and wife. This cannot mean nothing to you; I have photographs taken on our wedding day."

They both sniffed.

"If you don't believe it, why are you trying so hard to convince yourself otherwise?" she asked him. "You know in your hearts that all of this is a sham. There wasn't a real wedding; we were messing about cheering each other up at the time."

"Then why are you crying?" he challenged. "If this is meaningless to you, why are you sobbing as you are?"

"Why do you think, dumbo?! The same reason you are crying. I like this life with you, and I will miss it dreadfully. Good grief, look at me," she said as she wiped desperately at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Here I have a purpose, a special place in your life; but when you open that fob watch I'll be back where I was. Oh, I'll still be supporting you as your friend, I know that one, but I won't be more. I won't matter."

"What do you mean you will not matter?" He stood astounded before her, like a lost child.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to hold in her tears. "Rose will be back in your life, your mind and your hearts; and I'll become part of your ever-changing wallpaper."

"The young girl I drew in my journal?" he wondered in puzzlement. "Why would I want her instead of you?"

"Oh Doctor," she sighed. "You won't even need to ask that question once the watch is opened. Ever since I have known you the spectre of Rose has stood between you and everyone else. I have no idea why she is so special but to you she clearly is; and no one can alter that."

"How would I regard you?"

She shrugged her shoulders defensively. "Who knows?"

"Then I don't want to change," he declared decisively.

"I'm not worth it, I'm really not," she insisted. "You have to return for the sake of everyone else; it doesn't matter about us."

"No!" he cried loudly, and she stepped closer to soothe him.

In tender sweeps, she caressed his face and thumbed away his tears. "You'll do the right thing because you always do." Donna then kissed him tenderly. "Goodbye John Smith," she whispered, biting down on her own grief; and walked away to face her fate without him.

Fighting back his own sobs, he followed her progress away from him and lifted up the fob watch in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he pushed the button that released the cover. Instantly he was encased in bright golden light, and the world rushed back in.

Then he made his way outside to where the ex-Mr Clark was calling for him to appear.

* * *

Back on the step, a soft voice enquired "Donna?" and Joan appeared by her side on the stairs, wrapping a consoling arm around her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Donna wiped desperately at the tears on her face, trying to see her beloved friend through the blur. "No, Joan. I have to leave tonight, and I really don't want to."

"Why?!" Joan cried out. "Why must you leave so soon?"

"I know I was supposed to go in a few weeks," Donna admitted as she tried to give Joan a brave smile, "but things have changed. John has changed and I have to go back to my old position in his life."

"Old position?" Joan queried.

"Yes," Donna sighed. "The one where, if I am his wife, it will be in name only."

Joan snorted her scorn. "I cannot see that happening. He loves you too much to allow such a thing to happen. I have seen his deep affection with my own eyes, remember."

Oh yes, you saw John Smith, Donna wanted to retort; but knew it was useless. She couldn't explain the change to her friend properly and make her understand. Instead she focused on the other pain in her heart. "I will miss you terribly, Joan."

"And I you," Joan instantly replied, teary eyed.

They briefly hugged each other, because their seated position on the stairs made it a bit awkward, and a little too intimate for English sensibilities.

"Is the Headmaster okay?" Donna thought to ask as practicalities filtered into her mind.

"He will be," Joan confirmed. "Who would have thought Mr Baillie would have thrown himself in front of him like that? Poor man."

Yeah, who would have? Donna certainly had him pegged as a coward when it turned out he was nothing of the sort. It took a very brave man to take a bullet for another. "Mr Bailie came back for the dance and had the last waltz. He didn't deserve that."

"I did not get the chance to ask how your evening went," Joan commented as she held onto Donna's hand.

You what? All that seemed like such a long time ago now. "It had been lovely before the violent nonsense started. John was extremely attentive," she said and blushed at the thought of how exactly he had been attentive that evening. "We danced together, and then those people turned up. The pod people who threatened us with funny guns that looked as though they'd gotten them out of a jamboree bag or a McDonald's happy meal box; except they were obviously the real deal… And you have no idea what I am talking about but thank god none of the boys got killed." Which was pretty ironic, Donna realised, considering what their fate would be in the following years. Perhaps being shot by someone under the influence of alien possession would have been a better ending.

Joan knew her friend tended to talk about things she had no knowledge, so she ignored her other questions for the time being. "Where's Dr Smith?" Joan asked gently.

"He's gone with the pod people," Donna confessed. "I know he'll be safe-ish. They wanted him because of his watch... which reminds me to make sure Latimer is okay."

Joan squeezed her hand. "Donna, why would those beings want his watch?"

Oh heck! How on earth could she explain this one? "It contained a life force they wanted to feed off; like a special brand of electricity." Donna then caught the concerned look on Joan's face and dissolved into tears. "Oh Joan! What am I going to do? I tried to keep John away from those things, and then it was obvious that wouldn't work, and the altruistic idiot has walked into their trap."

The blood drained from her face as Joan asked, "Do you think he is dead?"

Donna fervently shook her head. If he had died the TARDIS would have been wailing in her head, but she wasn't. Although John Smith had died and disappeared. "No, I know he'll find a way to deal with them. He's that sort of man." Except he was an alien, of course, but Joan didn't need to know that bit.

They both started when a dark ominous shape appeared in the shadows and spoke to them before stepping into the moonlight. "Donna, we need to go," the Doctor stated firmly.

His whole demeanour was stern, but Donna knew he must have done something that had made him need to shut himself off in this way. It was his coping strategy, and always would be. Nothing about him said he was willing to wait, so she instantly stood and took herself away from Joan's tender care.

"Yes Doctor. I'll go and pack our things ready for our journey," she tightly replied. "Bye Joan," she murmured, bent to kiss her friend's cheek and then ran up the stairs before she wept all over Joan; not risking looking back but knowing the Doctor was probably following her up.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** I've spent the day at a family barbecue, so I still haven't finished writing this yet and it might grow again.

* * *

**Part Fifteen**

.

"Just put the things in the trunks. The TARDIS will pick them up later," the Doctor told her when he reached the bedroom to find her rushing about collecting items.

"Okay," she answered, as she pulled more items out of the drawers. Why was she allowing him to boss her about? What was the matter with her?! The answer was obvious: she didn't know what else to do. If she complied she wouldn't have to face his anger yet, or his obvious disgust. A lot of negativity was being reflected in her direction. Putting away their things meant she could pretend everything was okay for a little while longer. "Where is she right now?" she asked, not expecting much of a reply.

"Outside in the grounds where they left her."

Accidentally slamming the lid shut on a trunk, she declared, "That's done, now I'd better get the crockery and other stuff packed away. Excuse me, please." She pushed politely passed him, since he didn't seem at all keen to move, and carried out her task.

What worried and annoyed her was the fact he didn't lift a finger to help, not even when she placed his books back in their travelling box. The last item she picked up was his journal, and she had to fight the urge to hug it tight. He must have noticed her hesitation as she put it with the other things, but he never said a word; he just stood there watching over her like a prison guard.

"I'm done," she needlessly told him. "Do you mind if I write a couple of goodbye notes? I won't be too long, promise."

"If you must," he answered. "I'll be waiting outside for you in the TARDIS."

Of course, she thought; goodbyes weren't his thing at all. So she hastily wrote a note to both Joan and Jenny; sealing them in an envelope. Inside Jenny's note she placed all the loose change and notes she had, it must have been a good £50 or so; and told her to treat herself. Donna toyed with the idea of also placing a sock in the envelope, but dismissed it when she realised that Jenny would never have got the joke. So instead she also enclosed the pair of gold earrings she wore that Jenny had once admired, along with its matching necklace.

For Joan, she asked her to hand the enclosed note to the new history teacher, Dr Newman. Well, it wouldn't harm Joan's chances if she left a brilliant reference and recommendation to Dr Newman, would it? When Latimer had handed her the fobbed watch back, she had seen Joan married to him, so it was established in the time lines, she argued.

As for anything else, she would have loved to leave Joan the copy of John's journal. Perhaps the TARDIS would do her a photocopy to send at a later date if she asked nicely? It would be a fitting gift if she could arrange it.

That brought her thoughts to Latimer, and she had something else entirely planned for him that she strongly suspected the Doctor would approve of. He did like his cheap time tricks, if the one he had pulled on Martha Jones whilst they were at the Royal Hope Hospital was anything to go by.

A sob tried to wrench its way out of her chest as she contemplated returning to the Doctor and leaving her friends in Farringham School behind. Why did she have to keep walking away from good friends? At least this time she'd have a good friend to walk towards, if he still wanted her to travel with him. With a final farewell to their rooms, Donna mentally called out to the TARDIS that she was on her way home.

Now all she had to do was sort out where home was considered to be.

* * *

Donna had watched the Doctor as he danced around the console, re-acquainting himself with everything again, lovingly touching the levers and buttons; like he had once her. But she hastily pushed that thought out of her head, since it no longer deserved to be in there. His ability to ignore things and stay in the moment truly astounded her at times.

Laying on the jump seat next to her sat the fob watch. She instantly sneered as she gazed upon it; she hated the thing. If it hadn't been for Latimer stealing it, it would have easily fallen into the hands of the Family.

When Donna had returned to the console room in the TARDIS, the Doctor had barely looked up from his monitor as he explained how he had dispatched the Family of Blood to their eternal fate. Of course she had wanted to race to his side, wrap him in her arms and tell him everything was okay; that they were okay. But she hadn't. Everything was still too raw and new again. This was evident when she had taken an experimental step forward and he had winced.

It was too soon; he needed time to heal, regain all his memories, readjust to his former life and cast off the old. They both knew this. The Doctor had already donned his familiar brown suit, so Donna had taken the hint to throw off her outfit, and had left for her bedroom, to return a few minutes later.

Gone was almost every trace of Donna Smith-Noble, instead she wore her usual mode of clothing that covered her up in just as rigorously a form from prying eyes when he knew she had a stunning figure underneath it all. Her hair was swept back high on her head in a ponytail, with wispy fringy bits to frame her face; and a smile was plastered on in a contrived manner. He could tell she was frightened but she was hiding it well from anyone who didn't want to look.

"It's good to be back, Spaceman" she greeted him. "Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love some," he cheerily replied. "You put the kettle on and I'll get us into the vortex."

"Right oh. See you in a few minutes," she told him with some relief, and headed for the kitchen.

His attention was on flicking switches, turning dials and pumping that strange stirrup pump thing for a few seconds before they dematerialised from 1913. Having stabled the TARDIS, his question was: what should he do now?

He made his way to the kitchen and found Donna bustling about. She placed two mugs of tea onto the table, looked up at him and smiled. A smile that shot right into his hearts. "Look what the TARDIS found for us!" she exclaimed. "Special biscuits. She must have really missed us. Do you want one now or did you want to wait?"

"Now would be nice," he cautiously replied. "Donna, can I ask you something? What happened to the red dress?"

"Oh that…" She turned away from him so that he couldn't see her face. "I put it back in the trunk with the other things the TARDIS gave us. Was that the wrong thing to do?" she queried as she risked facing him. "I didn't want to hold onto anything that wasn't mine. It seems… you know." She then forced herself to laugh. "I can't say I will miss those bloomers and I bet you were itching to get back into your suit."

"I did miss it," he readily admitted.

"There is one thing I wanted to ask you," she added, deep in thought. "What are you going to do with all those notes I typed up? It seems a shame all of that effort will go to waste. But then, who would want a load of stuff about bits of pottery and metal from Norfolk? Apart from a museum, I suppose. Anyway, the TARDIS placed the trunks in my room so I have it all when you want it; unless you'd prefer me to take it to the library? Yes, I suppose that's the best place, then you don't have to come anywhere near…. How about I go do that now?"

He struck out a hand to stop her from standing up. "You don't have to do it right this second; it can wait," he insisted. She was trembling under his touch on her arm! He lifted his eyes to hers in puzzlement. Why was she suddenly frightened of him? "Donna, I'm not going to hurt you," he tried to comfort her.

She quickly nodded. "I know," she agreed. "Oh, you'll be wanting a poppy to wear when we go and see Timothy Latimer. I saw some in the…"

"Donna!" he interrupted her thought process. "Is something the matter?"

"No," she denied. "I'm just adjusting back into my life. I'll get the poppies once I've finished my tea."

"Things will be awkward for a while," he commented. "It's understandable, but we'll be fine. I was still essentially the same person, both then and now." Please understand, he silently begged her.

"I know." She still wasn't looking at him directly, but concentrated on daintily eating a biscuit. "I can wolf these down as much as I like now, I suppose. No one to impress anymore." A guilty look was flashed his way before she changed the subject. "Would it be okay to go and visit Mum and Gramps? Only, I haven't seen them in months."

"Yes, that can be arranged," he carefully considered. "Is there anywhere else you wanted to go?"

"Not really, just a couple of ideas. It's just nice to be able to sit here in the TARDIS drinking tea." She offered him another biscuit which he gratefully accepted.

Is this what their life was? Her continually offering him things without expecting anything in return, and him just taking? "Donna, I wanted to say thank you for looking after me."

She ducked her head away. "That's okay; you're welcome. You looked after me too."

"Not in the same way. You gave me respectability, a home and a marriage."

With a few other things added in. "Yeah, well… That was my job." She modestly blushed.

"Job?" he queried.

"Okay, perhaps that was the wrong word; but you know what I mean." She blew her cheeks out in frustration. "Blimey this feels weird! God knows how you're coping with it all, with your memory returned. Just think, we'll look back on this and laugh one day, if we're lucky, and if I'm still he-" She paused for a beat. "At least you don't look as angry anymore. Are you really going to keep them all imprisoned like that?"

"They wanted eternal life," he coldly stated.

"Wouldn't most people ask for that, thinking that's what they want?"

"Would you ask for it?" he wondered.

She shook her head. "No. Living in here gives you a taste of what eternity would be like, and I'll keep to my forever if it's all the same to you. Everything ends, and that's how it should be."

Pride swelled in him. "You are remarkable, Donna."

What exactly did that mean? Sometimes he was really hard to decipher. "Yes, well, that's one word for me. One of the nicer ones; and normally said by you. I'll go and get those poppies while I think of it."

She was embarrassed, so he let her go, having decided she didn't want him as the Doctor.

She walked away feeling sure he didn't want her now that he had returned to normal. Taking a deep breath, she tried to centre herself. Hopefully she hadn't made a complete fool of herself with this and he wouldn't want her to leave. If he did, she would face it when the time came with good grace.

* * *

"Doctor, I was thinking," Donna remarked as she came back holding two poppies, "perhaps we ought to get some sleep first before visiting my family. I just looked in the mirror and I'll have them worried with the state of this face."

"You do look tired," the Doctor agreed. "We'll retire for a few hours and come back to our plans later."

"Thanks." She smiled gratefully and started to walk the short distance to her bedroom. Fortunately the TARDIS had moved it conveniently close to the kitchen. Reaching her door, she turned to call out good night and was shocked to find the Doctor right behind her. "What are you doing?" she blurted out.

"Going to bed," he stated as though the question was daft.

Which it certainly wasn't; in her head. Surely he wasn't expecting them to continue sharing a bed?! Not when he was thinking of someone else. "Erm… Doctor, are you thinking straight? I'm not sure you should come in. We don't sleep together anymore."

"We don't?" He was sure his expression was as crestfallen as his mood. "But we…" The Doctor wanted to protest that he needed to sleep by her side, that she obviously kept his demons at bay; that changing back didn't necessarily mean the end of them as a couple. But all of that fell away as she stood regarding him as though he had stepped out of line. "Yes, you are right. In that case I'll be busy elsewhere."

"You prawn," she cooed, and flummoxed him by placing a tender hand on his cheek. "Don't try and pretend you don't need sleep because I know otherwise now. Go and lie down; that's an order."

"Okay," he softly agreed, catching hold of her hand to press a kiss onto, and then releasing it when he remembered he wasn't allowed to do so anymore. "I'll try and sleep." 'Without having nightmares' he mentally tacked on.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Night then."

"Goodnight, Donna," he re-joined, and then made his way to his own bedroom.

Both of them found their comfortable, familiar bedroom more than a shade lonely and colder than normal.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** more migraines, I'm afraid, that stopped me writing but I got this part finished. Phew!

* * *

**Part Sixteen**

.

The Doctor twisted and turned as he tried desperately to get to sleep. Why was it eluding him? He'd had no problem when Donna had shared a bed with him. Well, once they had tired themselves by…

He quickly stopped that train of thought. He missed the soft touch of her freckled skin, her scent, the warmth emanating from her body as they snuggled close, the way her hair felt as it splayed over his fingers and he watched the sunlight dance within the colours, holding a magical quality. Not that he remembered much about it. No, it was as though he had hardly noticed a thing.

Except he was lying to himself, and thoughts of how he longed to taste her kept bombarding his mind; keeping him awake in all sorts of ways. Thankfully he eventually drifted off into sleep, but it wasn't into the hoped for pleasant dreams. Instead he was being hauled in front of the Gallifreyan High Council to account for his misdemeanours, and found to be very wanting. The verdict was tortuous imprisonment for him and execution for his companion; a slow, lingering death.

Inevitably his screams rang out into the TARDIS, forcing Donna awake from her own fitful sleep where her mother was reciting her usual liturgy of how useless Donna was, how she would never be a grandmother at this rate, that sensible daughters managed to get and then hold onto a man, and that anyone with half a brain can find permanent work except her.

Feeling quite glad at first to be woken from her dream, Donna soon changed her tune when the TARDIS added her pleas to go and soothe her pilot. It was their early marriage days all over again, and didn't that thought just promise to come back and bite her in the bum? Resolving to think that one over later instead, in light of the Doctors obvious need, she flung back her bedcovers and raced to his bedside, once the TARDIS lit the way; like those fancy disaster lights in an aeroplane flight cabin. Thank goodness there was no smoke to add to the panic, because he certainly sounded like he was halfway to hell.

Just like she used to, she climbed in next to him without thinking, hugging him close whilst whispering reassuring words and placing kisses on his forehead. And as before, he clung onto her for dear life. Donna knew all the signs by now: when the dream was finally fading away, when his embarrassment hit, when he started making the most of their cuddle like a little boy would; it was all so familiar by now.

It was also possibly wrong and out of place; but his need for her comfort was all too evident, so she went with the flow. He'd soon push her away if he didn't want her comfort anymore. She had no doubt of that, since men had to retreat into their cave or do their fire staring, according to the book; well, he did sort of come from Mars but she certainly didn't come from Venus.

The Doctor wrapped his arms tightly around her body, keen to keep her there with him in bed for as long as he could get away with it. He had his clear-cut proof now that her presence calmed him more than was probably wise; but she was there in his bed now and he was keeping her there to the bitter end. What he particularly liked, once you'd eliminated all the soft warm cuddly stuff of course, was the fact she never demanded to know what the dreams were, she would ask the question once about how he felt and that would be it. No long explanations, no rehashing of the evidence until it almost made your teeth bleed; just calm acceptance and comfort on an immeasurable scale. Was it, in light of that, wrong of him to snuggle into her so much? He didn't think so.

He still didn't think so when they eventually woke up, with him almost standing guard over her body with his face planted on her ample assets, snoozing away with slightly open mouthed glee. His arms and legs were still wrapped around her, and his body drained all the excess heat away from her so that she surprisingly didn't wake up dripping in sweat as she had expected she would. Although finding his head cushioned on her breast had been a major surprise, considering; and him rubbing his nose on her there as he woke up, like a snuffling baby.

Baby. Her suddenly horrified thoughts returned to that tablet the TARDIS had given her weeks beforehand. How potent had it been? Was there any likelihood that her freedom from the usual monthly nonsense was down to being pregnant? It wasn't as though they'd been restrained, for goodness sake! Or that he was having no effect on her body as he lay so possessively on her; or that something was reciprocated, judging by the feel of him. It was hard to miss...

This would need careful handling; or not handling, if you see what I mean. Although handling might be better than fighting him off, she decided as she considered her tactics for an escape plan. "Wake up, sweetheart," she deliberately crooned at him; only get him turning his head and start kissing her flesh. "Oi, Spaceman! Careful with the goods!" Well, there's only so long you can keep a façade up without cracking. Or grabbing him in kind, but she ignored that thought too.

What? The Doctor lifted his bleary gaze as he momentarily wondered why he was being stopped from doing something so nice; and then he blushed a dusting of crimson. "S-s-sorry! I was just erm..."

"That's what was worrying me, the likelihood of your 'erming'," she teased; and he gratefully smiled back.

If she wasn't completely angry with him, he could cope with this, these small snippets; and she might let him lie like this with her in bed again. "Thank you for coming in to me."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Now about this special breakfast you were going to make me..."

"What special breakfast?" he asked in clear confusion.

"D'uh! The one you'll be cooking me. You are such a cheap date at times, I dunno. You didn't take me out to dinner; I spent the night with you, so the least you can do is provide breakfast."

Ooh, he was loving this return to normal teasing! "Ah, but I did take you dancing. Doesn't that work in my favour?" he cheekily proposed.

"Keep telling yourself that, mate! I expect at least a plate of bacon and eggs with my name on it by time I walk into the kitchen."

"Why? Where will you be?"

"Having a shower, getting ready for our morning date with destiny," she supplied.

She said what? It was with hope that he asked, "You consider me your destiny?"

"I'm talking about visiting Latimer, dumbo."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten that for a moment," he confessed. "Still, I've managed to get a date with you." He added in a playful eyebrow waggle.

She lightly swatted his arm. "Give over, you tart!"

"Oh yes, be careful or I'll have you in bed with me." He then glanced meaningfully down at their closely snuggled bodies. "Look what's happened! I seem to have succeeded. There's only one path to follow now, if you play your cards right."

Donna couldn't stop herself from laughing at the triumphant expression on his face. She'd easily allow him this after his nightmares. "I'll inform the escape committee and get you some false papers. We can't have you trapped like this."

"Definitely not," he pretended to agree, enjoying every second of his entrapment. Shame it had to end, but then what doesn't? At least he got a peck on the cheek before she disappeared into the bathroom; he'd be satisfied with that until he could convince her otherwise.

* * *

The strains of 'For Those In Peril On The Sea' finished filling the desolate landscape as the Salvation Army stopped playing, and the assembled people continued their public mourning standing by the war memorial; remembering those brave men and women who had sacrificed their young lives for our freedom. Whatever Timothy Latimer had been thinking as he sat in his wheelchair, with his war medals proudly displayed on his chest, had abruptly halted when he spotted two familiar figures from long ago. He may be a frail old man of sixty two but he hadn't lost all his marbles yet.

He reached up to touch the hand that rested on his shoulder. "Look who it is," he tried to comment, but the words wouldn't work their way out as old memories gripped him. How he longed to share these particular ones, but he knew he shouldn't betray this secret; so he let the owner of the hand, his son, walk away to place their own wreath against the memorial and stand back in reverence.

But Latimer's attention remained on the visitors. The man and woman might have been wearing entirely different clothing from when he saw them on a daily basis but he'd have known them anywhere. A chuckle did manage to escape his lips when the woman turned to adjust first the poppy on Dr Smith's lapel, and then his tie. Mrs Smith always did have this way of treating him like a little boy when they thought no one was looking; although judging by the scowl on the Doctor's face, Latimer suspected he knew all too well that they were being watched. Fortunately the scowl was soon replaced by a tiny salute in his direction, and Latimer beamed with happiness; he was finally going to be able to say his goodbye.

As expected, the Doctor and Donna sauntered over once the Remembrance Day ceremony finished, and generously shook Latimer's hand. Donna even added in a kiss to his cheek. "I suppose I ought to call you Timothy," she noted with some amusement.

"Whatever you feel like calling me, Mrs Smith," he instantly replied.

She shared a brief but telling look with the Doctor. "I'm more used to being called Donna. And this lump..." She hit the Doctor in the chest with the back of her hand as she waved it about. "He just calls himself the Doctor."

"Not that you usually do", the Doctor noted.

"As if I would?" she retorted. "Not when I can think up a better name."

Latimer joyfully sat listening to them; the sound of their happy banter bringing back so many memories.

"While I think to ask, is there a post box near here? I have something for Nurse Redfern," Donna suddenly asked him. She held up the small package in her hand. The TARDIS had heard her plea and had provided a photocopy of John's journal to pass on.

"It's over there," Latimer said, pointing to a corner some fifty yards on the other side to the war memorial they were positioned by. "Thank you for coming today," he added to the Doctor. "You really are a time traveller. I had doubted it when I saw it all laid out before me by the watch."

"No, it was true," the Doctor confirmed with a sniff and an anxious glance towards where Donna was making her way back towards them. He had no idea how much his face lit up when she smiled at him; but Latimer saw it.

"I wanted you know," he started to say to Donna as she joined them, "that I took your advice and dodged that bomb. My lungs may have been affected by the mustard gas but at least I'm still here."

"And we're very glad of it too," she commented as she added in a tender touch on his hand. "It's lovely to see you've lived a full life."

"Oh I have," he agreed. "I have a wife, children and grandchildren. None of whom I would have had without you pair."

"I'm sure that's not true," Donna modestly answered for them, and let the Doctor reach out to hold her hand.

"No, it's true," Latimer continued. "The man I saved that day on the battlefield along with myself turned out to be my future brother-in-law. That's quite a coincidence."

"Or destiny," the Doctor remarked to Donna. "It was lovely to see you again," he said to Latimer, and shook his hand as a farewell.

"The pleasure was all mine," Latimer returned the compliment and the handshake. "Especially as you are still so happy together. We often spoke of the positive role models you both provided us boys with."

"Yes, well," Donna blustered, and blushed. "We're a partnership."

"Yes we are," the Doctor confirmed. "Come on." He started to lead her away as they called out their goodbyes.

"Who was that, Dad?" asked a man in uniform when he returned to Latimer's side.

"Some people I knew who used to work in a school," Latimer tried to airily answer but his excitement at meeting them was all too evident.

Latimer junior let off the wheelchair brakes, and turned his father towards home. "Perhaps you'll see them at next year's ceremony," he pondered.

"I doubt it," Latimer answered, knowing he wouldn't now see another one; but it didn't matter, he was ready to go. Once he had made the most of his remaining time; that was the precious gift he'd been given. He hoped that Nurse Redfern had enjoyed hers just as much as he.

Once they reached the safety of the interior of the TARDIS, the Doctor pulled Donna into his embrace, instinctively knowing she was crying; and held her there for several minutes until they were both ready to move on.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I apologise for the major delay in finishing this. It's been a combination of migraines and internet problems; although a lack of energy has been the real culprit.

* * *

**Part Seventeen**

.

"That must happen to you a lot," Donna pondered as the Doctor walked up to the console.

He stopped in confusion to ask, "What must?"

She waved her hand in the vague direction of the world outside the TARDIS doors. "Seeing people you know go from young to old in a blink of an eye."

"A fair amount of times," he admitted. More often than he'd care to mention, and he hated seeing people wither away. How on Earth would he manage to see Donna wither and die before his very eyes? It was something he had to seriously contemplate now that he had returned from being John Smith. And preferably without looking at her otherwise he'd feel like scooping her up into his arms and never letting her go. That would surely frighten her away for good.

As he focused his attention on the console, Donna realised that it was a big deal for him, this human frailty. What had she been thinking where he was concerned? No wonder he never returned to people as a general rule; but he had broken that rule so that she could see Timothy Latimer had lived the life she'd seen in the watch. It was heart-breaking to witness despite her knowing that Latimer wasn't even alive when she was born and had been long dead by the time she'd met the Doctor. Why had he allowed her to do that? Was it a subtle reminder that he viewed her in the same way? Probably, thinking about it. Here today and gone tomorrow. She would be no more than a page in a book to him, if she was lucky; at best a small paragraph, or a few words if she wasn't. It was best for them if she completely changed the subject. It wouldn't do to get him angsty about it.

"How long are you waiting for in order to land us back home at Mum's after our last visit?" Donna asked the Doctor as he started twiddling knobs and dials.

"No more than a month," he replied, not looking up from his task. "I once made the mistake of leaving it for a whole year."

"A whole year!" Donna repeated in shock; thinking her accusation of kidnapping was minor in comparison to this one. "The family of your travelling companion  
must've assumed you were dead. Why did you do something so stupid?"

He did his best to look innocent. "It was a miscalculation."

"Did you get punched?" she asked knowingly.

How did she know he'd been struck? "No, it was a slap," he reluctantly admitted.

"You deserved it," she answered with feeling. "What? Don't give me that look! You weren't the one waiting behind, being all worried to death."

"Yes, well," he conceded with a cough. "Mickey was questioned for murder."

"The poor sod," she gasped out in sympathy. "I assume this was Rose then that you popped back five minutes later only to find it had been a whole year."

"It was," he confirmed, and pressed the materialisation button. "Anyway…"

He was doing it again, avoiding talking about his recent past as if it was a deep wound being prodded. Should she persist or should she leave him be? Perhaps it would be better to let him lead this one since it might force them to examine recent events; and it was his broken hearts involved, after all.

The Doctor steeled himself for further questions, and was surprised that she again changed the topic of their conversation.

"Would it look better if I turned up with flowers for Mum, or would that be pushing it too far, do you think?"

"It depends," he cagily answered, "on how much she likes flowers and how distrustful she generally is."

Donna thought that one over. "It's best I don't turn up with flowers. She'd wonder what the matter with me is. I'd only get away with it if she's dying, or I am."

That caught him by surprise. "Really?"

"Wedding reception," she simply pointed out.

Oh yes, he'd forgotten momentarily about that incident. Who celebrates a non-event when your child might be dead purely because you've paid for it? He'd been angry enough at the time on Donna's behalf, let alone how he'd feel now after getting to know her so intimately.

Intimacy brought up another thought that he'd been avoiding. "Er… Donna, do you mind if I do a quick scan of you in the med bay before we go into your mother's?"

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "What alien bug do you think I might have picked up?"

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Not a bug, or a parasite for that matter; although some might argue that it is a parasitic life form, but I'm not suggesting for a moment that I would consider it as such. And all the olfactory evidence is to the contrary…"

Why couldn't he ever just say what the problem is without spluttering on? Donna eyed him in exasperation. "What _are_ you going on about, Spaceman?"

The self-comforting neck rubbing intensified, making her worried. And then a deep blush appeared on his face, which caused different concerns to run through her head. Did the fact she knew what he looked like naked now mean she could have picked up some weirdo illness within her mind? Could such a sight even do that to you? There was a lot of weirdness in the universe to discover, but him actually saying what it was would help enormously. If she waited long enough he'd have to eventually say what it was without her threatening to thump the living daylights out of him.

"The thing is…" He gave a nervous cough to add to the mix. "There is the faint possibility that you are…" No, she still wasn't filling in the blanks for him, despite him waiting after giving her a cue, so he'd have to come out and say it. "Considering our recent activities, together, you might…" A glance in her direction showed she was still waiting for him to finish, so he'd actually have to say the words now. Damn! "You might be…," he continued, and braced himself to say, "…pregnant."

A loud gasp was the first indication she'd heard him, followed by throwing her hands over her mouth as if to hold in a silent scream. "But the TARDIS, she gave me protection," she argued. "I thought I was completely safe." Emotions warred within her; ranging from betrayed, scared, elated, and furious. Her dream had long been to marry, have children and be normal; but she would willingly give that all up to travel through time and space with him in the TARDIS. This life was wonderful despite, or because, the fact it was frightening at times. It was like living on a huge rollercoaster, but without most of the nausea.

"Let's go find out for certain, and ease your mind," he suggested, offering his hand to escort her there.

'Ease your mind.' That struck a chord that was very familiar in Donna's head as they walked towards the med bay. "Don't you mean to ease _your_ mind, Doctor? You wouldn't be the first bloke to dread being a dad, you know." Her faith remained firmly with the TARDIS.

"Donna," he sighed, and pushed open the relevant door. "Being a dad isn't a fear of mine, per se. I have been a dad in the past; and a grandfather."

They entered a well-maintained room with medical equipment strewn about the place and cabinets containing various chemicals. He indicated that she should seat herself next to a monitoring machine that burst instantly into life.

The words 'then you should have known better!' angrily raged in her mind, but she didn't utter them. The fact was he hadn't known at the time. For all intents and purposes he had been, and certainly acted like, a virgin rather than a man who was used to having a sexual relationship. Not that it took him long to learn, mind you; and he certainly had tried to make up for lost time during those last few weeks.

"That doesn't necessarily mean you'd welcome it all again, does it? What happens if we find out that John Smith got me pregnant?" she reasoned as she crossed the room and sat down. Knowing this type of procedure all too well, she started to roll up her sleeve. Most of the time it had been with Nerys during her antenatal appointments. Talk about living precariously through someone else…

The breath stuttered in his throat. Using the act of turning to grab some small items out of a nearby drawer to hide his face, the Doctor answered, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He couldn't believe that she had referred to him as John Smith. Did she not realise that it had been he who had made love to her?

"I can see you're upset by the thought of it though," she remarked sympathetically; and yet again he was impressed with the way she read him.

"I just need a pin prick of blood," he cautioned as he placed a tiny cylinder onto her arm that both gave a minute stab into her arm and then took a bead of blood.

Why did it surprise her that he was evading the subject, even now, as they sought out the answer to this question? Although the bigger surprise had turned out to be how much she wanted to grab and kiss him. That lost little boy look, the pouting bottom lip, and the whole 'I need a hug' vibe that he gave off when the arrogant or merely confident air he normally had wore off, was sexier than it had any right to be.

"Well? What's the verdict?" she asked after some seconds of him peering at a display screen.

A part of his hopes died as he read the information. "The result is negative; you are not pregnant."

Relief was the first emotion, closely followed by regret. She had, after all, just lost her major chance of being a mother. Determined to put on a brave face, she plastered on a smile. "Great!"

"Yeah, great," he echoed, in that way that you are not sure if he is pleased or just saying it for the sake of sounding upbeat.

It wasn't his fault that she wasn't pregnant. He would have instantly offered a real marriage if she had been. Now all he had was rules and regulations to stop him from proposing. Hmm. What could he come up with to ensure she stayed with him?

* * *

"Donna! And look, it's his Lordship!" Wilf cried out in glee as he opened the front door and found them both standing on the doorstep. "Come in out of the cold."

They had landed on quite a chilly day so they allowed Wilf to usher them into the heated hallway and then greet them in turn with a warm hug after the Doctor had tried to go the polite route by offering a hand to shake.

Wilf grinned at them with unsuppressed glee. "You've caught us on the way over to Suzette's. It's her anniversary party today."

Oh dear! Donna's promise to the Doctor that they would only spend two hours here at the most was starting to look in jeopardy. "Is it? How many years?" she asked.

"Forty, would you believe," Wilf supplied. "Who knew Alf could stand it so long?"

They chuckled, and then Donna explained to the Doctor, who was looking decidedly confused, "Alf is always disappearing off into his shed to get away on his own. We're surprised he stood around long enough to propose to Suzette at times."

"He's probably said more words to his pigeons," Wilf added. "No wonder Suzette bends your mum's ear so much. Ah, there she is! Have you got everything, Sylvia?" he continued as his daughter came down the stairs.

"I think so." Sylvia then kissed Donna's cheek in greeting and nodded at the Doctor. "Did Dad explain where we're going? If I had known you were coming I'd have told Suzette we'd be along later."

"That's alright, Mum. We'll come with you," Donna consoled her. She then stole a glance at the Doctor to see how he was coping with this level of domesticity. "We won't be able to stay very long before we have to go."

"You're not staying long?" Sylvia accused. "But we've hardly seen you lately. Can't you try and give us longer?"

"We'll try, Mrs Noble," the Doctor put in.

She huffed back at him. "I keep telling you to call me Sylvia. If you're going to hang about with Donna you'd better get used to it."

He smiled as sweetly as he could, and then they dutifully followed her to Suzette's house.

* * *

There were plenty of people already there when they arrived, but fortunately Donna knew some of them all from previous get-togethers.

A dumpy dark haired woman sipping a gin and tonic eyed the Doctor with keen interest when she saw him standing next to Donna, so Sylvia sprang into action; eager to show off her daughter's possible relationship.

"You've not met Brenda, have you? She's Suzette's sister," Sylvia commented when the Doctor noticed he was being watched, and went to introduce him.

The Doctor was the first to stick out his hand in greeting. "Hello, lovely to meet you. I'm the Doctor; Dr John Smith and this is my wi-…" He had held out his other hand to bring Donna closer, using the action to then wrap his arm around her waist, and only realised his mistake as he started to say the word 'wife'. "This is Donna," he quickly amended.

"Hello Brenda," Donna added in greeting, trying to ignore the slipup, but her heart rate uncomfortably quickened, causing a blush to appear on her cheeks.

"It's lovely to finally meet Sylvia's family; I've heard so much about you," Brenda gushed. "Don't worry, it has all been good."

"Are you sure you were talking to my mum?" Donna wondered.

Brenda laughed knowingly. "She's even showed off photos of you, so I easily recognised you. I wasn't shown one of John though. How long have you been together?"

"He turned up the day of the wedding," Sylvia stated, as though he was a bad smell. "And took her away."

"Oh yes, I heard about that," Brenda told them. "So you stole her from the church, you sly dog! She must have made quite an impression on you," she aimed towards the Doctor.

He smiled smugly. "She certainly did," he agreed.

"Yeah, he makes it sound like he was pleased to see me," Donna interjected. "It was a rocky start."

"But you soon came to love me," he considered, with a grin.

"Shut up!" she softly admonished him, the cheeky sod! He had no right to look so smug about it.

Sylvia saw the gooey looks and decided to break it up. "Did I show you what present Alf bought Suzette, Donna? It was…"

The Doctor found himself left standing with Wilf as Sylvia led Donna away, and he weighed up the situation. Someone was not pleased Donna was travelling with him; she wasn't pleased at all. But at least Wilf was making him welcome, and their conversation soon turned onto the stars.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** I managed to keep within PG-13! But you might be amused to know that I went and wrote some smut after finishing this.

**A/N2:** there's a little something in here for **raingirlkm**,** dm12**, **NotaPunk**, and** Way Worse Than Scottish.**

* * *

**Part Eighteen**

.

It was with a certain amount of effort that Donna managed to enthuse about Suzette's anniversary gift. The pagoda in the back garden was indeed a very fine example of gardening furniture, and the Russian vine growing up it would be beautiful by the end of the summer.

Sylvia had tried to pin her in the kitchen by the back door, and she had already had to admire Suzette's new double oven to please her mother. The things you do out of loyalty. So she was glad to see the Doctor making his way towards her, when there was a shout from behind.

"Donna!"

A tall, burly man in his thirties suddenly rushed up and hugged Donna tightly, adding in a twirl as he did so. "Fancy seeing you here!" he exclaimed.

She grinned with glee back at him. It was fantastic to see a welcome face from her past. "It's good to see you after all this time."

"What's this I hear about a wedding? Did you go and marry someone else instead?" he teased.

"Geroff, you berk!" She then collected herself and turned to introduce the Doctor. Oh dear! He did not look pleased at all. "Philip, this is my..."

Before she could get the word 'friend' out, the Doctor continued her sentence by sternly saying, "Her husband."

What did he go and say that for? That was twice in an hour. Although at least he hadn't grabbed Philip by the throat. Oh God! He wasn't going to punch Philip, was he? It was only a hug; nothing more sinister. "Erm… John," she cautiously said as she took hold of his arm, "this is a really old friend of mine that I'm sure I told you about. Philip is the one with the deeply religious mother."

The Doctor blinked back at her as his rage dissipated and his memory brought up the religious mother incident. That meant this was the closet gay friend. "Oh yes!" he recalled with delight. "It's lovely to meet you, Philip," he enthused as he grasped Philip's hand to shake.

"Same here, mate," Philip replied, shooting Donna a 'what's the matter with him?' glance. The atmosphere eased considerably as they exchanged pleasantries, and eventually promised to keep in touch.

Donna thought they had weathered the worse storm when Philip went to talk to someone else, but Sylvia had waited until they were the only ones left in the kitchen.

She folded up a tea towel and threw it down onto the worktop. "When were you going to mention the ring?" Sylvia began questioning Donna.

"What ring?" Donna asked in confusion.

Sylvia sighed in exasperation. "The wedding ring sitting on your third finger," she pointed out with a jab of her index finger.

"Ah, Donna's wedding ring…," the Doctor started to explain.

"Not you!" Sylvia testily halted him from talking and gave him a withering look. "Her!" She indicated towards Donna. "I want to hear it from the horse's mouth and not from a gibbering idiot."

The Doctor baulked at that insult, and Donna automatically reached out to place a calming hand on his arm. "Mum! Do you have to?!"

"Apparently I do, otherwise I'd have been told nothing. Well?!" Sylvia now added in a glare as she waited for her answer.

"The thing is, Mum… we er…we are sort of married," Donna stammered.

"Sort of?" Sylvia sneered. "How can you be sort of married? Either you are or you're not!"

"It wasn't a legal ceremony, but we stated our vows to each other," the Doctor put in. He wrapped a possessive arm around Donna's waist to draw her protectively close. "In all the ways that matter we are husband and wife."

"So are you saying you had some fart arse hippy wedding where you danced around naked at Stonehenge during the Summer Solstice? Sounds about right for you. You never could do anything that was remotely ordinary and normal," Sylvia loudly accused Donna.

The Doctor gave a chuckle at her words. "Thankfully Donna is far from being dull and ordinary; and our wedding was very special, taking place as it did on a London landmark."

"Doctor," Donna groaned. Why did he have to admit it had taken place in London of all places? Trouble was bound to happen now.

Of course Sylvia angrily leapt on this snippet of information. "You got married in London! And you didn't tell us?! I should have known you'd stoop so low as to not invite us to my own daughter's wedding. As if you hadn't done enough damage by stealing her away from her marriage to Lance."

That really got his anger up. "The universe does not revolve around your wants, Sylvia Noble. It's a shame you can't always remember Donna is your daughter in such a positive light!"

"I think you'd better leave," Sylvia ordered him.

"No!" Donna yelled out. "If you chuck him out I go with him. I won't come back until you apologise."

Sylvia seethed. "Then you'll have a long wait, missy!"

"What's all this noise? Have I missed something important?" Wilf suddenly appeared through the door to ask.

"It's her and _him_," Sylvia also spat out, "talking nonsense; claiming they are as good as married."

"Just a spot of bother; all sorted now," the Doctor cheerily faked his reply.

Wilf stood in confusion. "I saw the ring on Donna's finger, but I assumed you'd come to say you were engaged; not married."

Brenda who stood next to him, eating a piece of cake from the plate she held, commented, "I thought she was going to announce she's finally pregnant." All eyes looked at her. "What? Can't I chip with what I thought now? Sorry, I didn't know it was a private argument, what with the amount of noise Sylvia was kicking up."

"I didn't…," Sylvia started to deny the accusation.

"You did, sweetheart," Wilf interrupted her. "The whole house could hear you going off at them. That's why I came in, to shut you up."

That caused a deep blush to form on Sylvia's cheeks as she stammered an embarrassed apology.

"Time to leave, I think, Donna," the Doctor declared, and firmly grasped her hand before she could refuse. "Say goodbye to everyone."

To her amazement, Donna found herself doing just that, finding that many people gazed with sympathy and understanding on them as they did so; and she was just as eager to get out of there and back home. Home to the TARDIS, that is.

The Doctor didn't let go of her hand for a second; which was extremely puzzling, but she waited until they were safely inside and they had dematerialised before she asked any question.

The fact he made her help out was an added bonus; what with running his hands down her arms and personally guiding her hands to press buttons and push levers as he did so. Not only that but his breath played over the back of her neck the whole time and his body remained so close behind hers that the only way to be closer would involve intimacy.

Now there was a leading thought!

And then he said the words that set butterflies scurrying in her stomach and caused goosebumps to rise on her skin.

"We need to talk," he said in low tones directly into her ear.

* * *

Before leaving the kitchen, Donna adjusted her skirt over her hips, smoothed down her hair, picked up the fully laden tea tray and set off to meet the Doctor, as arranged. When she got to the library she found it empty. Where the heck was he? Didn't he know how anxious she was about this talk, the swine? It wasn't as though she'd had enough to think about lately, what with the whole living in a different era thing, him posing as a human, and the whole sex topic that hung over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

She garnered her bravado and resolved to quiz him about those little slipups he had made, embarrassing her in the process. What had he been thinking?! Yes, anger was good; it felt comfortable.

"Doctor?! Where are you?" she called out as she returned to the corridor in search of him.

"In here!" he cried from several doors down.

A door stood ajar, so she kicked it open to avoid knocking the tray and found herself standing in his bedroom. "There you are," she said with some relief. "I thought we were having tea in the library."

"Now that you are here we might as well have it in here," he evenly suggested

Walking properly in, she looked for a place to set the tea tray down and chose the desk. It was as she turned to speak to him that it happened.

The Doctor stood in the middle of the bedroom, and brought out from behind his back a cane; a schoolmaster's cane. He wielded it purposely about and then brought it down hard onto the bed in front of him.

WHACK!

Despite jumping, Donna immediately felt herself melt. What was the matter with her? She thought she had gotten over this stupid fetish. Judging by the way her heart sped up, she hadn't.

"Erm… Doctor, where did you get the cane from?" she asked, although it practically came out as a groan.

He turned the darkest look he could muster onto her. "Why do you ask, Donna? Have you been naughty?" he breathily wondered.

Eek! Had he rumbled her? Was he aware this was her version of Kryptonite? With an anxious lick of her lips, a lick that his eyes followed in minute increments, she stammered, "I er… I don't think so, but I might have been. You certainly had the odd moment.

With an annoying quirk of his eyebrow, he stepped nearer to examine the flush upon her skin and smell her pheromones. He'd been right; she secretly liked this sort of thing. "You seem to have something to tell me."

"No, nothing at all," she instantly denied. Nothing she was remotely willing to own up to with this scenario. It was only a stupid fantasy, after all; one that she wasn't insisting on playing out.

A step closer.

"I disagree. You were like this the day we first shared love, after you had come to my classroom."

Donna shook her head. "That wasn't you, it was John Smith"

He frowned briefly in anger. "I _am_ John Smith."

Why was he saying this? What stunt was he trying to fool her with? "No you're not; you're the Doctor. John Smith died."

Why was she denying his existence? He brought his hand up slowly to delve into his open jacket and pull out his wallet. "Do you recognise this, Donna?" he asked as he flipped it open and showed her the contents; one specific item held within a tiny plastic bag.

She gasped. "You kept it! That's the lock of my hair you… John cut as a souvenir. Why have you still got it?"

"Why does any man keep something precious in his wallet? It is held safely next to my hearts," he answered sincerely.

"No, John Smith did all that. You've merely inherited it," she insisted. "It's a nice gesture though."

Nearer still.

With a resigned sigh, he kissed the packet and replaced it from where he had taken it. Did she still not believe he could be one and the same? Needing to convince her, he asked, "Look into my eyes. What do you see?"

A flippant answer tried to force its way passed her lips as she stood nervously before him, one where she mocked him for being a madman, but she batted it away and went for honesty. "I don't know anymore," she blurted out. "I only know that I was allowed to love John Smith, and he loved me."

"If you look in my eyes, Donna, you'll see he's here, inside me. Everything that John Smith is and was, I'm capable of that, too," he softly stated.

"You are?" she wondered. There was a sob. "What are you offering me exactly? Another arranged marriage of convenience, friends with benefits, purely friends or a one way ticket back home? In case you hadn't noticed, I don't tend to get permanent offers."

"How permanent can I make this…?" he pondered as he wrapped his arms around her and brought his lips as close as possible. "Be mine," he begged, bringing their lips finally together. "Stay with me, please."

"Yes," was the only word she was able to reply with; her mouth, lips and body did the rest.

* * *

Donna entered the branch of W. in Oxford Street and joined the queue of people waiting for their signed copies of the book written by Verity Newman.

Without looking up, Verity grabbed a book, opened the front cover and went to write her message. "Who is it for?" she asked with the merest glance.

"Donna. Donna Smith-Noble," Donna stated proudly. "And that there is the Doctor," she added, pointing towards the man standing a few feet away watching them.

That seemed to affect Verity, and she took off her reading glasses to peer intently at her customer. "You know, my grandmother knew a…" She then gasped. "It can't be! You look exactly as you were described in her notes. There was even a sketch or two. She never forgot you."

Trying not to embarrass herself by welling up, Donna asked, "Was she happy?"

"Very much so," Verity confirmed, and signed the book with a flourish. "My grandfather made her happy. And what about you, Donna?"

The Doctor approached them both, and took Donna's hand, smiling contentedly.

"Yes, we're happy together; ecstatic even," Donna said as she smiled back at him. "Thank you," she continued as she took her copy of 'The Journal of Impossible Things' from Verity's hand.

"If you would wait just one moment," Verity requested as she bent down to open her handbag, rifled through it and pulled out her phone to snap a photograph of them both; but when she lifted her head, they had gone.

Verity sat glumly contemplating the empty space before her, knowing her grandmother would have been pleased to know that her friend Donna and the Doctor were happy too.

* * *

They lay snuggled up in bed, trading small kisses that were slowly building in intensity as their arousal grew.

"What happened to Jenny? We never went back and checked," Donna thought to ask before her senses were swamped by the essence of him.

"Your fledgling Suffragette, you mean?" he teased. "She bought herself an education, started a business and became a leading light in the Labour Party."

She stopped kissing him long enough to consider, "She didn't make it through the war, did she?"

"No," he reluctantly supplied. "She was killed by one of the first doodlebugs. I'm sorry, my love."

"But it wasn't futile, was it?" she sought to confirm.

"Oh no," he agreed. "She did an enormous amount of good, helping girls reach their potential."

It would always be like this with him. They'd get to meet people, form friendships and know they'd die having made their mark on society. It would take a time to get used to.

"Come on, no bad thoughts," he interrupted her musings, "or I will have to bring out my cane."

She laughed, just as he hoped she would. "I love you, Dr John Spaceman; and the fact we're the Dynamic Duo."

He grinned and gave into the temptation to kiss her again. "I love you, Donna Spaceman-Noble; although we might have to change the label of Dynamic Duo in the near future."

"Why? Has someone brought out a patent on it?" she wondered.

With a delighted giggle he laid a hand on her stomach. "No, just a little addition to change things."

Her elated tears spilled over as they celebrated their joy by demonstrating their love; and the TARDIS quietly added a nursery next to their room.

~o~0~O~0~o~

**Thank you for reading. **


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